


Life is Beautiful, Death is Merciless

by TheAzureFox



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-08-11 01:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20144962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAzureFox/pseuds/TheAzureFox
Summary: [DISCONTINUED]





	1. Prologue: Rising Sun

**Author's Note:**

> former summary: 
> 
> Divine gods. Dead hearts. The end of the world, a past full of secrets, and a future drowned in bloodshed.
> 
> After a chance meeting with Fodlan’s future leaders ends in saviorhood, twins Byleth and Belial must make a decision. 
> 
> For Byleth, that decision is easy. She chooses the Golden Deer, drawn to their carefree lifestyle and the familiar face that sits in their ranks. However, what starts off to be a boon soon becomes a bane as she attracts the attention of one Claude von Riegan. And, unfortunately for her, it looks like he won't be going away any time soon...
> 
> Belial's decision, however, is not so easy. Because, while he chooses the path of the Blue Lions, he also feels drawn to that of the Black Eagles as well. Torn between the charismatic Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd and the cold-hearted Edelgard von Hresvelg, he soon finds his convictions wavering…
> 
> (Canon rewrite, AU, and reinterpretation. F!Byleth/Claude, M!Byleth/Dimitri, M!Byleth/Edelgard, Dimitri/Felix)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions, meetings, and departures to a monastery far, far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <strike>Note that this fanfic's title is subject to change because uhhhhh I'm never satisfied with it and still am not.</strike>  

> 
> nvm I found a title I like. Changed the summary a little bit tho and it might change again dfhjfdjh
> 
> Pairings:
> 
> [Major] Claude/F!Byleth, Dimitri/M!Byleth, M!Byleth/Edelgard, Felix/Dimitri, one-sided Edelgard/F!Byleth
> 
> [Minor] Sylvain/Ingrid, Hilda/Lysithea, Mercedes/Ignatz, Lorenz/Marianne, Dorothea/Petra
> 
> [Undecided but likely] Shamir/Catherine, others TBA as I decide upon them.  

> 
> *****Please note also that this fanfic will contain massive spoilers for the game. So, if you want to avoid being spoiled, please don't read any further.*****

* * *

The lost city of Agartha is a place of wonder.

Even in its old age, ancient and of a time past its youth, the city stands abandoned but not neglected. Walls made from black stone stand proudly, boasting of a legacy not yet vanquished as its ruined towers peek up from fog-stained earth.

Edelgard steps through this city, her footsteps light yet full of caution. Around her, the city of black stands silently, its sky-reaching buildings hovering over her like a shadow. On its walls, painted with a kind of enigmatic light, are blue runes which pulse and wither whenever Edelgard keeps her gaze locked upon them. Some strange form of energy hovers in the air, cackling at her hesitance as she moves around a broken pillar of glass.

“So you have come.”

A voice comes from the shadows and Edelgard freezes in place. She stiffens, hand drawn to the dagger on her belt and eyes searching for the source of such a sound. Fog clings to her, obscuring her vision as she dances on the tips of her toes.

“Relax.”

Air hits her ear and Edelgard finds herself stunned to feel arms wrapped around her person. Orange hair drifts on the side of her vision, something gray yet human lingering around her waist before it pulls away to reveal itself as a shadow.

“Kronya,” Edelgard says, half with relief and half with unease.

The shadow manifests in the form of a teenage girl with pale skin. Edelgard’s eyes are drawn to the way three appendages dangle off her waist, waving like the tails of a cat as the newcomer approaches.

“How do you like it here? Doesn't everything here look so sad?” The girl named Kronya asks. “No, don’t answer that. Rather, I suppose I should get on with things. Father doesn’t like it when I show up late, after all.” There’s a sigh, one drawn out and exaggerated but it is not hard to miss the note of bitterness in her voice. “Come along now. You’re our honored guest and we shouldn't be keeping you waiting."

Edelgard eyes the girl, lips firmly screwed into place. There are words she wants to speak, questions she wants answered, but she supposes there are better times for inquiries.

The girl in front of her blinks red eyes, hands behind her back and appendages slowing to an irritated wave. She offers up a hand and Edelgard accepts it without question, feeling fingers intertwine with her own as she is guided through the fog.

As she does so, however, Edelgard comes to the realization that they aren’t alone. Even in fog as thick as the one she walks through, she can sense the presence of foreign eyes upon her. Gazes made from malicious curiosity alight upon her, poking and prodding and digging into her as if to search for weakness.

Edelgard tilts her head up, trying not to let her fear show as she is led through the fog.

As if sensing that she knows of their presence, those tucked within the mist descend into loud whispers. Edelgard strains to hear their words but finds (to her irritation) that they are spoken in a language she doesn't understand.

Kronya, on the other hand, seems oblivious to such chatter, moving without hesitation through the ruins before her. She is a silent guide, her earlier babble replaced with something quiet as she leads Edelgard through the tattered remains of a city lost to time.

Eventually, they reach a strange square-shaped object. Except, it’s not so much a square object as it is a panel of enigmatic energy. Blue runes alight with magic greet Edelgard’s uncertain gaze, welcoming Kronya into its luminance as she steps upon the plate of blackened metal.

“Come now,” Kronya says, her tails of metal swishing. She tugs at Edelgard’s hand, red eyes alight in amusement at Edelgard’s reluctance to join her on the metal panel. “It won’t hurt a bit.”

Edelgard stiffens, knowing she must step onto the plate of runes and yet her body freezing at a most untimely moment. The whispers around her descend into something like laughter, cruel and mocking and words sharpened with a lilt of malicious amusement. From the depths of the fog, Edelgard can see the movement of shadows, of eyes glowing in the darkness and sinister intent reeking in the air.

The sensation of danger hits her all at once, biting into her as she realizes just how foolish she has been to come alone. Panic takes her chest, eating at her, and she is pained to admit it is not an unfamiliar feeling.

Still, the convictions trapped inside of her fight back against the fear she is facing, chiding the way she clings to her childish fears. Edelgard takes a deep breath, reminding herself of her own reasons for travelling alone in such a place, and nods at Kronya. She takes a step forward, feet settling on the strange panel, and the girl before her nods in approval.

“Well done,” she praises.

Edelgard’s body betrays her and she lets loose a pathetic smile, Kronya’s approval curling its way through her like intimacy would in a touch-starved child. A wave of bile hits Edelgard’s throat and she doesn’t miss the way disgust boils in the air from that of her audience.

Kronya closes her eyes and chants words in a language as old as the city itself. The light beneath them grows brighter, eating at Edelgard’s feet, legs, hands and arms until it up and swallows her whole. She closes her eyes, squeezing them shut, and only when the light that pierces at her eyelids vanishes does she dare to open them again.

Her breath hitches in her throat and she finds for a minute that she is unable to breathe.

Before her, trapped in a cavern as big as a field and as tall as a mountain, stands a city of obsidian. Tall towers draped in blue runes and buildings made from blackened metal greet her waiting gaze, polished with a kind of luster that is unlike the city she has just departed from. Lanterns made from cerulean crystals hang on poles of silver steel, light falling awash on streets made from ebony.

Magic hums in the air, visible in the way colored runes puff up like smoke from the ground beneath. Edelgard’s gaze is drawn to symbols of mystery and intrigue as they drift up and pop at the touch of her fingers, fizzling out with colored sparks.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Kronya lets go of her hand and steps forward, spinning her arms out and letting loose a giggle. Her metal tails wave behind her, moving like that of a dog's as she hops around on a floor made from silver glass.

“It is,” Edelgard breathes, unable to deny such a simple fact.

“There’s much more to see, too!” Kronya says, eyes lighting up as she beckons Edelgard to follow her. “Come on, come on!”

The older girl takes off, her every step as elegantly calculated as she leads Edelgard through the city of polished black.

“There are many things I want to tell you,” Kronya says, “and many things I want to show. It’s been a long time since we’ve brought a visitor here. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like for outsiders to see and know of this place.”

Edelgard nods, gaze scanning the area around her as her hands knead into the ends of her skirt. She realizes in a short amount of time that, yet again, she is being watched. From the corner of her vision, she can see figures of silver darkness clinging to the shadows of the city. They whisper to themselves, gazes fixated on her as they stay in the shadows of blackened towers.

She knows she stands out. She knows she cannot avoid that. Yet, somehow, she wishes to blend into the world around her, to avoid the whispers of those who slither in the dark and to rid herself of their judgment.

The girl falls quiet, as does her escort. Kronya does not comment on her silence, instead preferring to silently gesture to the things that are of interest and then move on with their journey.

Of those things of interest are the strange metal beings that move with a mind of their own. Animal-like creatures and bulky beings in the vague resemblance of humans patrol the area, greeting Edelgard’s nervous gaze with unnatural tilts of the head before looking at Kronya and then continuing on their paths.

Edelgard has heard of such contraptions. Robots, they are called, devices almost life-like in nature and yet artificial beings whose servitude to their creators was never put into question.

_Such strange things,_ Edelgard muses, watching as a bird-like machine flutters down on a metal rail before her. It moves in the semblance of a bird, cocking its head at her and observing her with golden eyes. Runes touch upon its body, pulsing, before the creature takes off with a chirping noise Edelgard has never had the pleasure of hearing before. _Very strange indeed._

She moves forward, not pausing a moment to adjust to such mysterious sights. Kronya doesn’t allow her to, either, nudging her along whenever Edelgard’s pace becomes unacceptably slow.

Over time, Edelgard grows tired of walking through streets of endless black. Her legs become weary, almost shaking in exhaustion, when at long last they come across a building decorated in magenta runes and enter inside.

There, Edelgard sees the target of her convictions.

A man awaits her, draped upon a throne of blue. White hair and white eyes greet her alongside wrinkling skin: a testament to the ancientness of the being before her.

“Father,” Kronya says, kneeling down before the man with an arm across her chest, “I have brought our guest.”

“Yes. I see.” The man on the throne addresses Edelgard with the slightest tilt of his head. She can feel his gaze raking over her as she stands before him. Even with the lack of pupils in his eyes, she can tell he is assessing her from head to toe, appraising her with something cold. “You have thought about my offer, have you, child of Hresvelgr?”

Edelgard’s lips curl just the slightest at the name she is presented with. “I have.”

“And you came alone? No, I can sense you have.” The man frowns. “How did you shake your loyal servant?”

“With a distraction,” Edelgard says. “He does not need to know of your existence quite yet.”

“Agreed,” he says with something like a hiss. “He is unlike you. He is not fully committed to his ideals.”

“Not yet. But he will.” Edelgard raises her head. “I will make certain of that.”

“Always honest with your convictions. I admire that about you. You are just like _him_, in a way.”

“Him?”

The man shakes his head. “Someone you need not concern asking questions about. Rather, I wanted to hear your words to my proposal. Remember what I have told you. I will help you with your dreams if you will help me with mine. Do my words ring strongly for you or do we have to…_renegotiate_?”

The girl doesn’t miss the lilt of warning in his voice. She knows the consequences of her decision. She wouldn't have come this far if she didn't.

“I accept.”

From beside her, Edelgard can see the way Kronya relaxes.

She wonders the reason for Kronya’s relief, eyebrows raising, when the man before her speaks again.

“Good. I was hoping you would.” He removes himself from his throne, approaching her. “I look forward to working with you, future Empress of Fodlan.”

He stops before her and holds out a hand.

Edelgard takes it.

“Of course.”

* * *

One year, three months, two weeks, five days.

Fourteen hours and fifty three minutes.

Claude runs his hands along the scales of a wyvern, feeling the roughness of such scraping material with an apathetic musing. _Well fed. Healthy. Content._ His observations come without pause or conscious thought, his eyes analyzing only what he sees before him. _Tamed. Raised by humans. Knows no other life._

A flicker of jealousy hits him and he snorts at himself. Jealous? Of a wyvern? Him?

_All too likely. _

Giant wings flap in the sky, beating strong and powerful as trails of wind are left in their wake. The beast Claude rides acts unaware of his presence, its gaze fixated on the giant wyvern flying ahead of it. Infatuation gleams in its gaze, its youth evident in the way it trails its alpha wyvern and tries to curry the beast's favor with its own obedience.

Claude curls his lips at such submission, wanting nothing more than to take his wyvern’s reins in his hand and steer it away. But wyverns are pack animals, members of a herd. They follow a social hierarchy, one of which Claude has no chance of breaking. He knows that much though it doesn’t mean he won’t give it a try.

His hands grab on the back of its neck, his body leaning forward as he feels for the sensitive spots on the back of the creature’s neck. His fingers run along dark brown scales, poking and prodding until they find an entry way into soft skin. Claude’s fingers reach for that patch of sensitivity, fingernails applying just the slightest pinch of pressure…

The wyvern flutters its wings, distraught at such a sensation, and it doesn’t take long for it to fall out of formation. It whines and yelps at the prick of his fingernails, spinning itself in circles as if to reach for him and snap him off its back. It can’t reach him, however, its neck far too stiff to manage such a dangerous maneuver.

Above him, he hears shouts and screams of panic, riders placed atop wyverns doing their best to soothe the poor beast. However, Claude’s wyvern has lost its sense of rationality for something more primal, fear invading its mind as it searches to rid itself of the pest which pains its sensitive skin.

Then, a dark shadow descends and golden eyes capture Claude’s wyvern into obedience. It whines, flustering greatly in the presence of its alpha wyvern, before it sinks its head into submission and quails like the pathetic little thing it is.

Claude curls his lips, releasing his fingers and placing them on the tip of his saddle as he watches the man staring down at him.

Duke Reigan meets his gaze without hesitation, anger and frustration sparking in his eyes. Claude tilts his head up, unwilling to let his panic get a grip on him.

This man needs him, after all.

That’s the one thing that reassures Claude more than anything else.

“What?” The boy asks. “I’ve done nothing this time.”

“You are testing my patience,” Duke Reigan snarls. “What did you expect to gain? Your tricks can only go so far. You cannot escape what is meant to be yours.”

Claude stays silent. He knows his words will not help him here.

“If you act this way at the monastery, then perhaps I will have no choice but to incite your obedience.”

His heart thumps in his chest. He doesn’t let his face show the fear he feels. Instead, he digs his fingers into the leather of the saddle he sits on.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Claude states it like a fact.

Because it is one.

And, they both know it is.

“Perhaps.” Duke Reigan’s voice becomes flat. “But I have other ways to do so. Like, perhaps, extending the time you’ll be spending at the monastery?”

His anger immediately simmers into submission. All his defiance dissipates in an instant, the weight of such words eating away at him.

“I understand.” He says.

“What was that?”

Claude glares up at him, something painful pricking at his eyes.

“I understand,” he responds, pausing for a moment before spitting out- “_Grandfather_.”

* * *

The voices are whispering to him again.

Dimitri wears a smile on his face as he walks through a hallway full of people. He greets them with a charming grin, his words filled with a lilt of merry. The people of his castle greet him with benevolence, pulled into his direction by they way he lights up the room and lets the world fall into place before him.

However, even as he speaks and charms and goes about his life, he can feel _them_ right beside him. _Their_ hands are on his body, slipping across his arms, his legs, his head, his ears, his cheeks, his eyes, his feet. _Their _lips are whispering secrets only he is allowed to know, words promising a reward for fulfilling the requests lingering in _their_ souls.

Dimitri ignores _them_ as he always does, progressing with life as if he is not a corpse walking among the living.

A woman with long pink appears before him, parting the crowd of admirers that chase after Dimitri, and the kind smile she gives the boy is enough to ease _them_ into a murmur of unease.

“Cornelia,” he greets.

“Prince,” the woman curtsies before him. “How are you faring?”

“Fine. I was just preparing to leave.”

“Ah, of course. Forgive me if I’ve interrupted anything.”

“You have not, Cornelia. Relax.”

“Hm?” Cornelia smiles again and, this time, it sends _them_ into a panic. _Their_ voices clamor loudly, sinking into his ears and slickening his brain. Dimitri ignores the need to wince, straightening himself as Cornelia taps her fingernails against her elbow. “Well, I hope you enjoy your time at Garreg Mach. I expect you’ll become a fine king when you come back, after all.”

He nods, a hand put to his chest. “I promise to serve this kingdom well. I will work hard and become a king worthy of the throne.”

Cornelia’s eyes light up and she pats his head. “Such a good child,” she coos. “I have faith in you.”

She nods at herself, cupping her chin, and then excuses herself with a look of thoughtful musing. Dimitri’s gaze follows her as she leaves. It takes little time before the woman is soon replaced by another figure.

“Rodrigue!” He says with a lilt of giddy surprise he cannot contain. He approaches a man of long black hair, unable to keep the grin from his face.

“Dima,” the man greets in response, reciprocating the grin on his face with one of his own. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine!” He says and _they_, for once, don’t speak up to disagree. “I was just preparing for my departure.”

“Saying your goodbyes?” Rodrigue nods in approval and it makes Dimitri’s heart swell. “They will all miss you while you’re gone.”

“I know that,” he straightens. “And I’ll miss everyone too. But, a king’s duty is to become educated and ready of service whenever his people are in need of him. Going to the monastery will hone my skills as a leader.”

“That it will,” Rodrigue places a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. It’s warm. It makes the ones haunting him falter back into the hell from which _they_ came, their distress thwarted momentarily. “And I can’t wait to watch you become someone I can be proud of.”

Dimitri beams, delighting in the sensations of euphoria washing over him, before a voice calls out to him. Dimitri turns to see a black-haired boy walking towards him.

“Sorry, Lord Rodrigue,” the boy says, snatching at Dimitri's arm and looking pointedly away from Rodrigue, “but I have come to fetch the Boar Prince. We’re already running late as it is. And, I don’t want to hear Ingrid handing me an earful for his tardiness if I can avoid it.”

“Alright, I hear you. Take him there then, Felix, if only so Ingrid won't tease you again.” The black-haired man waves a flippant hand and laughs. It’s a kind, open-hearted laugh. Dimitri likes that laugh. It reminds him of so many things…of so many people and so many things he’s no longer allowed to have…

The black-haired boy named Felix nods at the man, his gaze lingering for only a moment on Rodrigue's figure, before he turns around and takes Dimitri with him down a stretch of the palace hallway. Dimitri obediently follows after him, growing almost sullen as _they _drift through the cracks and hover yet again at his side.

Dimitri is escorted out into a courtyard full of pegasi, white horses draped in ethereal wings greeting his gaze. Atop them are nobles draped in finery, boys and girls placed nervously atop fine mounts that unfurl their wings and snort with the need to fly. Among them are a blonde-haired girl, a red-haired boy, and a dark-skinned man with graying hair who urge their horses to meet with him.

“About time, Felix!” A red-haired boy snorts. “What, did you get lost in the castle looking for Our Highness?”

“No, our future king just has the indecency to launch himself into conversation on the cusp of our departure.” Felix releases Dimitri’s arm with a throw, sending Dimitri tumbling several steps forwards as his childhood friends look upon him with wary amusement.

“We have not a moment to waste, Your Highness,” the dark-skinned man – Dedue – states with an informative tone.

“Best we get on our way now,” Ingrid agrees, taking the reins of her pegasus with an air of confidence. “I’m sure the Archbishop will scold us if we arrive after the others.”

Dimitri nods, watching as one of his men escorts a pegasus in his direction. He boards it without question and his steed lifts its head in response, prancing forward to let loose its wings.

“Let us leave now then,” he tells them, smiling widely as the ghosts at his side quiet in anticipation. “Before she can have a chance to scold our ears to deafness.”

Felix boards his own pegasus and offers up a huff. “Stop talking, Boar Prince, and get moving.”

The boy takes off on his pegasus, followed by Sylvain and Ingrid. Behind them follow a brown-haired lady, a girl of orange hair and a boy with hair the color of ash, each riding atop pegasi of their own. Dimitri watches them go before turning to Dedue.

“I will leave when you are ready, Your Highness.”

Dimitri nods. “Then let us go.” He kicks the side of his pegasus, watching as the creature jolts forward and settles into the air. Dedue’s mount follows and the two ride side by side into the sky.

Wind brushing into his face, Dimitri’s eyes light up as the world becomes nothing but the sky and a stretch of land before them. He urges his pegasus onwards, guiding it through the clouds of the world above, and can feel nothing but anticipation in his heart as he soars through the skies.

In his ears, he hears a whisper, cold and unnerving and speaking a noise only the dead can make.

“_Dimitri. You must avenge us._”

Briefly, he imagines that his hands are painted in red.

* * *

Garreg Mach Monastery stands. It stands, yet it does so with an air of loneliness, trapped in a time of abandonment as silence threads through its abandoned corridors. Once, perhaps only a month ago, this monastery was the home of dozens of students. Now, it was home to very few. Home, that is, to the ones who rule it and the ones who guide its citizens year after year after year.

Resting atop the cathedral, perched on a stone ceiling wide enough to fit her form, sits a silver dragon. Her gaze flits across the world. Silent. Contemplating. Otherwise unmoving.

It is only when a pair of green-haired individuals comes to disturb her does she settle into the sensation of movement.

“My Lady,” the older of the two – a man with hair the color of darkened moss – speaks with reverence. “Are you thinking of _her_ again?”

The dragon cranes its head to look down upon him, mouth parting to release words.

“I must mourn the dead, Cichol,” she says for way of explanation.

“I understand,” the man nods his head. He brings the other beside him – a girl with hair the color of mint – close to him. “Still, the moment to grieve needs to pass. Soon, the new students will be arriving. You cannot appear like this when they do.”

“I am aware. Rest assured,” she cocks her head back and forth, “they are not within earshot. They are still far, far away. And, until then, I will continue to reflect.”

“Humanity has come a long way with your guidance,” speaks the girl. “I am rather glad to be here to see it for myself this year.”

“As am I, Cethleann.” The man known as Cichol pats her head. He presses her close to him, arms draping her in a show of intimacy rare and yet yearned for. “But you must be careful. If you or Cethleann are to come under harm, I will show no mercy. Not even to humans.”

“As you should, Cichol,” the silver dragon speaks, wisdom coating her tongue like that of an old woman's tales. “Humans are unpredictable. Trust them, and they will abuse you. Distrust them, and they will find any reason to give you grief.”

The dragon spreads her wings and grows awash with light. As she does so, she shrinks into the semblance of a woman, light green hair falling behind her as she appears before them.

“I have asked for your presence for one reason and one reason only.” She tells the two of them. “I sense the movements of our oppressors. And, while I haven’t been able to sniff them out, I’ve gotten word that they will make their move this year.”

“And what a better year to make a move,” Cichol speaks with dryness in his voice. “The Empire, Kingdom, and Alliance are all in disarray. If they act now, they will certainly have the upper hand.”

“Precisely. And we cannot allow that to happen.” The woman hums. “What we have built up cannot be destroyed. By the will of the Goddess Herself, we must do what it takes to keep this world in order. Even if that means acting against the humans She so loves.”

“I will follow your every command,” Cichol promises. “Give the word and I will do as you please.”

“And I thank you for your sacrifice,” she tells him. “I know coming here is in the least of your interests.”

“We will do what we can to protect the legacy of the Goddess,” Cethleann says with a smile. “Leave it to us to help you, Archbishop.”

“Thank you,” the woman says. She steps forward, walking with a practiced elegance. She pauses for a moment, stiffening. Cichol and Cethleann look at her, curiosity alight in their gazes, when she shakes her head and continues on.

“I think,” she says, “it is time to greet my guests.”

* * *

In a dream, two individuals watch as a battle unfolds. They bear witness to the way a man made of gray skin and a woman of green hair fight a battle. Behind them are two armies, one draped in crimson the other draped in sapphire. Battle cries sounds, swords clash, arrows fly, and the living painting placed before them erupts into a flurry of death and bloodshed.

“Nemesis!” The woman snarls, her sword clashing with that of the man’s.

“Seiros!” Nemesis greets with an eerie calm.

He moves with precision, blocking her blows and doing his best to keep up with her berserk movements.

The two clash, fighting and spitting and hissing and snarling. Rain pours down upon them, slickening their battlefield with mud as they lunge and snap and bring their swords down upon each other.

“Tell me!” Seiros shouts. “Do you remember the Red Canyon?”

She kicks Nemesis down, places a heel on his chest, and then points her sword at his throat. Nemesis’s eyes narrow as his lips curl into mockery.

“How could I forget?”

He shoves her off of him and the battle continues. Red battles blue, green battles gray, and it all becomes a blur until red beats blue and green beats gray.

Seiros stabs a dagger into Nemesis’ neck. She stabs into his chest, his head, his mouth, his eyes, his ears. Stab, stab, stab. All she does is _stab_.

“You will die! Die! _Die!_”

Nemesis twitches under her, his own cries soon replaced with the murmur of metal eating into skin.

When she finishes, her face is stained with red and the army watching behind her erupts into cheers. The army of blue cowers, their leader vanquished, but all Seiros can seem to think about is the sword she takes into her arms.

“Mother,” she says, her voice of anger giving way to one of painful resolve, “mother, I did it. I killed brother. I had to. I _had_ to. He killed you. What was I supposed to do?”

She cradles the sword, ignorant to the blood smearing across her cheek. She stays like that for a moment, sobbing, before her gaze looks up and locks with that of two others.

“You,” Seiros says, reaching out, “what are you doing here?”

The world fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hewwo this is the first chapter to the Doom Desire rewrite series I promised.
> 
> If you've read Doom Desire before, you already know a lot of places I intend to go with this fanfic. If you haven't read Doom Desire before and don't care to read it but are curious about this series: that's cool, I gotcha. You don't need to know anything about it to read this, honestly.
> 
> Basically, I intend to write all the major routes into one big cohesive narrative that, while staying mostly true to the game's canon, deviates as I will it in order to fill in parts of the story I felt were lacking or give depth to characters who get literally five seconds of screen time in one route and then just flat out die <strike>*coughs at Kronya*</strike> bc who the fuck cares about them amirite :')
> 
> Not much to say here except, like I said before, there is going to be M A J O R spoilers for a lot of the game's plot and character motivations. I'll also be sporting a lot of my own takes on certain characters <strike>*coughs at the Agarthians*</strike> so not everything will fall in line with canon.
> 
> If you want to know more about the changes I've made in this fanfic, I'll be setting up a series page [Here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1447084) in order to tease what I intend to do with this fanfic :>


	2. Rumor of a Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two mercenaries meet with three nobles. All is fine, until it is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all, thanks for being patient with me for this next chapter and thanks for all the support! I realize this fanfic is wholly unconventional so I’m glad to see people are enjoying this so far :D
> 
> With that said, here’s some things to note from here on out: 
> 
> *Belial = M!Byleth, Byleth = F!Byleth
> 
> *all major romances are slowburns. This means that all the relationships will take progress to develop so while some relationships will remain questionable for quite some time, I assure you they will get better. 
> 
> Minor relationships will either develop fast or slow, as I please. I can say tho that Sylvain x Ingrid will probably be the closest of all pairings to be considered “minor” yet get a huge enough focus and a slowburn of their own to the point they might as well be considered a pseudo major pairing. 
> 
> *After having played through the BL route (or, at least reaching up to like two chapters before Gronder Field Part 2) I’ve considered dropping Dimitri x M!Byleth and instead replacing the pairing with Dimitri x Felix (which the game is pushing onto me in this really strange yet endearing way). I’m open to keeping Dimitri x M!Byleth but do note I’m going to be Very Unconventional on how I handle that ship post-timeskip for a multitude of reasons. Feel free tho to tell me whether you prefer M!Byleth x Dimitri or Dimitri x Felix however.
> 
> *I’m also open to listening to suggestions for pairings for characters not already used. If anyone has any suggestions of what they’d like to see then feel free to suggest them to me. I won’t guarantee anything but I’m down for anything really if you can convince me to ship it.
> 
> Edit: fun fact but apparently i can't put chapter "1.1" as an actual chapter number without it switching the order of the chapters completely so screw you too A03

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE - Great Tree Moon I**

Chapter 1.1: Rumor of a Flame

* * *

In the continent of Fodlan, there is a rumor.

No one knows where this rumor began or even where it started from. Yet, it persists like a plague, starting with symptoms of idle gossip and carrying on until everyone’s bodies are trembling with anxiety.

The rumor, as it so goes, tells of a man. But, this man is special. He is not a man dressed in the tattered clothes of a beggar or a man dressed to the brim in fancy silk. No, this man is one of armor, of black metal cloaked around his body and a white mask painted red by fire.

The people of Fodlan call him the Flame Emperor. They say he is an apparition who clings to the vestiges of night, appearing at the break of dawn to snatch away his victims before they can see the sun rise.

And this rumor - this _tale_ which surrounds this Flame Emperor - goes as thus:

When a tragedy is about to occur, a man dressed in black, white, and fire will appear. He will speak of omens, spewing tales of corruption and promising the coming of a revolution. Then, when the light of dawn creeps over the horizon, he’ll disappear into the darkness and unleash devastation.

Kostas has heard the rumor before. Having travelled across the entirety of Fodlan, there’s no way he hasn’t. Yet, even as the tale settles in his mind, passed onto him by clients quaking in their boots, Kostas can honestly say he’s never once believed it.

And, what sane man would? The story of the Flame Emperor absolutely _reeks_ with supernatural superstitions, after all. No man would open his ears to such gossip and, in his right mind, think to indulge himself in the paranoia of a specter never proven to have existed.

Yet, as much as Kostas prides himself as being a sane man, there’s no denying the evidence laid bare before him.

Resting himself at a desk full of papers splotched black by ink, Kostas runs his fingers over a letter scorched in flame. It is a simple thing. Yet, all at once, it is not so simple.

The letter is made from paper. Its envelope, from a kind of material that only the richest of nobles would have. Stamped onto the envelope’s top left corner is a mark Kostas has never seen before: the mark of a flame atop an eye.

At first, Kostas assumes this letter to be the work of an aristocrat. The quality of the envelope alongside the presence of the stamp are enough to indicate that. However, as his eyes travel to the letters written in loose cursive beneath, he realizes the truth might not be so simple.

The penmanship is impeccable, that much is true, but the words written on the letter are simple and to the point: a trait more attributed to the commonfolk than to that of the flowery nobility. It is such a paradoxical thing, one that Kostas cannot wrap his head around no matter how hard he tries.

However, puzzling Kostas even more is the letter’s contents and its signer.

The letter speaks of a future to come, of the three future leaders of Fodlan gathered at a certain place and of a bounty on their hands. Kostas runs his tongue along his lips at the mention of money, eyeing the promise of a humongous sum and grinning at it.

He likes the proposal put down before him. Yet, even with greed stirring in his heart, he cannot help but find reservations. Even though he _is_ the leader of an organization built on collecting bounties, he can’t help but find himself frowning at the name of his newest client.

_The Flame Emperor,_ the signature reads, letters written in loopy cursive, sloppy and yet somehow elegant in appearance.

“The Flame Emperor, huh?” Kostas rubs at his chin. “What kind of madman signs in the name of a specter?”

Still, Kostas is intrigued. This so-called Flame Emperor is offering him a deal he can’t refuse. All he has to do is kill a couple of half-brained brats and he’ll get a hundred thousand gold to his name. A hundred thousand! Yet, even still, the authenticity of such a request rouses him with suspicion. One does not simply get a job offer from someone claiming to be a mythical creature, after all, and agrees to follow their whims without room for hesitation.

Yet, perhaps this “Flame Emperor” was aware that such doubts might exist. For, written underneath their name, was an additional note that spoke of time, place, and an intent to explain.

_Meet me under the oak tree of the moon’s light at the beginning of dawn. There, I shall confirm your will to obey me._

There was something haughty in those words, something condescending and arrogant and yet also bitten by distrust.

This Flame Emperor, this so-called myth brought into reality under the guise of a letter, was no doubt a man as pretentious as any one of Kostas’s clients.

Yet, even so, Kostas can’t help but find himself curious. What mad soul of a man dons the name of an urban legend and asks for his help in eliminating the three future leaders of the continent in one fell blow? Furthermore, what kind of delusional idiot would think to ask a bandit for help, speaking condescension in the form of a coward’s letter and then expects to be obeyed?

On one hand, Kostas doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t want to associate himself with lunatics and crazies and soil the name of his glorious business.

On the other, he feels his greed overtake him as he stares at the reward promised upon white parchment. With that much gold, he could feast for months on end and still have enough to pay for the services of any woman he so desires.

So, hoisting himself up from his chair and letter in hand, he decides to think more of the gold he can have than he does the craziness written inside cursive letters.

He retreats from his abode, stepping past wood rotted with time and chairs covered to the brim in rust. His fellow men greet him, curious eyes following the way he pushes through them with an air of impatience. He tells them of the appearance of a new client, one with an offer of the biggest amount of dough they’ve ever seen, and at once they let him through.

He grins at their amenability, leaving the abandoned hotel that classifies itself as their outpost and making way for a tree draped in moonlight. He finds the tree with ease: it’s the only tree in sight for miles around, after all, and its lonely presence make it the best meeting spot around.

Still, Kostas creeps towards the tree with a prick of unease upon his heart. In the shade of the tree, he can see a figure. But, the silhouette sitting in wait isn’t human. It can’t be. There’s no way a human can appear so bulky, no way that a human could have spikes sticking out of its broad shoulders with a strange feathered plumage to boot.

Yet, as the figure comes to greet him, moving like a doll on strings, Kostas finds his heart twisting not in unease but _fear_.

A man dressed in black armor and wearing a white mask painted in flames stands before him. Moonlight glistens down upon him as he manifests, sparks of purple nipping at his heels as he comes to stand before Kostas.

“T-The Flame Emperor!” He cries out, backing away from the apparition before him.

“_Do not look so frightened,_” the man dressed in the armor of a legend speaks in a voice cold yet ancient. “_I have not appeared to haunt you. I have come to hear your words._”

Kostas stumbles over himself for a few seconds, shock numbing his tongue, before he hastily flicks his gaze over the man’s form and tries to soothe himself. “I-I want to know if you can actually provide what you say you can provide.”

“_If you need proof than I can provide a sample of your payment to sway you. After all, as long as you do the job, I have no qualms with that._” The Flame Emperor tilts his head to the left and, in front of Kostas, a bag manifests in a dazzle of purple light. It falls before him, caught in time by the movement of his deft hands.

The _clunk_ of gold coins that sounds afterwards sends his stomach flipping with excitement.

“_I trust this is enough. The question remains, however. Are you willing to do as I ask of you?_”

“If it means I can collect a thousand more of these, I will do _anything_,” he promises, his fear of the specter before him lost in his avaricious haze. He clutches the bag of gold to his chest, nearly salivating as he adds: “I will accept your offer.”

The being known as the Flame Emperor almost seems to smile.

“_As expected._”

* * *

When Byleth awakes, she finds herself doused in a cold sweat.

Sticky sheets cling to her body, licking at her skin as she pulls herself up and tries not to shudder. Across from her, in the bed opposite of hers, she can hear her brother stir as he, too, awakens with a gasp.

Vivid memories stir in her mind as she meets her brother’s gaze.

She can remember watching a woman dressed in an ethereal white bearing down upon a man made from gray skin. She can remember the way blood had leaked from the man’s body, pouring from an overdose of stab wounds. And then, she can remember the way the figure named Seiros had turned towards her – towards _them _– and had spoken to Byleth as if she was aware she was watching.

“What was that?” Her brother, Belial, asks with a hand clutching at his head. “That’s the first time I’ve seen that dream…”

“Not the first,” Byleth says, “I remember that sword. Remember? We saw it in that painting.”

He stares at her for a few seconds. “Now that you mention it…” he rubs at his chin, frowning, “but, it wasn’t as clear as it was this time.”

“Yeah, this time everything was…_vivid_.” Byleth shudders. “I got the feeling that woman – Seiros? It _was_ Seiros, right? – was looking straight at us.”

“Yeah, that guy called her Seiros,” Belial scrunches his face for a second. Then his gaze flits to hers and he assumes a calm expression. “I got the same feeling. But, that should be impossible. She was probably looking at someone behind us.”

“But if what if she wasn’t? What if she saw us? What if she can come out of our dreams and attack us? What then?”

Her brother raises his eyebrows at her, no doubt trying play off the ridiculousness of her questions, when the wavering of his lips gives him away. He sinks, shaking his head. “I don’t know. This is the first time someone’s interacted with us.”

The girl bites at the tip of her nail as silence consumes them. She worries at the keratin, teeth gnawing in her need to find easement. Her brother releases a shuddering sigh and, as if to comfort her, he pulls himself from his bed and grabs at her hands.

“It’s just a dream.” He tells her, squeezing tight.

“Just a dream.” She echoes. The words slip like a lie from her tongue, tinged with disbelief as her brother lets her go and slips back into bed.

She follows his example, tucking herself into her covers. Byleth settles in, closing her eyes and urging herself to rest.

As she does so, she tries to erase all feelings of anxiety from her mind.

* * *

_Dear diary,_

_Tonight, I had another dream. I dreamt of a big battle. One with blood and people dying. I’m used to that. Being a mercenary means I see many people dying. But what I don’t understand is why this dream was different. _

_It was vivid. It felt like I was there. None of my dreams before have felt so strangely lifelike. Yet, this one was. _

_Belial saw it too, that ethereal woman of white and that cold man of gray. Their battle was strange. The woman looked like a goddess. The man, like a demon. He agrees with me that it’s the strangest dream we’ve shared so far. _

_But what concerns me most is what happened at the end of the dream. The ethereal woman – I think she was called Seiros? Yeah, probably – looked at us when we watched her. She seemed to be talking to us. It scared me. It scared me so badly. Belial reassures me that Seiros was talking to someone else but I don’t know…_

_Sometimes…sometimes our dreams feel like they’re real._

_It’s crazy: Belial’s told me as much. Even Dad says that dreams are just fake worlds inside our heads. But Dad doesn’t share dreams with someone else. Dad doesn’t know of the striking clarity of the scene we saw. Dad doesn’t know or understand the feeling of being watched, always, when no one’s around just as he doesn’t know the reason why I share dreams only with my brother._

_Dad doesn’t know anything, and that’s what scares me the most._

_Signed, Byleth _

* * *

Byleth closes the leather notebook shut, settling its lock back into place. There’s a quiet _click_ that resounds from the item, a subtle noise that suits the simple action, and then the notebook is put to rest at the corner of her desk.

Across from her, writing in his own diary, is Belial. A pen sits in his hands, ink staining his fingertips. He works diligently on his entry, so absorbed in his work that he hardly pays attention to her when she calls to him.

“Belial,” she says to her blue-haired brother, “I’m going downstairs.”

He hums a noncommittal answer and she huffs. Taking steps to leave their room, she strides down a long hallway and down a flight of stairs.

A low murmur of voices greets her ears as she does so. Emerging into the living room, Byleth watches as three men glance up at her, furrowing their eyebrows, before returning to stare at the man standing in front of them. She flusters slightly, her steps slowing as she descends. They are her father’s men, yet she still can’t get used to their stony gazes.

Jeralt, her father, greets her with a nod of his head. A grin that breaks across his face and he beckons her over without hesitation.

“Byleth!” He calls. “Is your brother down yet?”

“He’s still writing in his diary.”

“As expected of him.” Jeralt laughs. Then, he looks around at his men and then to her. She blinks at him. “There’s something I wanted to ask you kids to do for me.”

“Okay.” She nods her head. “What is it?”

“I’m currently busy here so I can’t quite go myself but I need you to pick up some things for me at the local market.” The man reaches into a nearby satchel, rustling through its contents, and pulls out a list and a bag of coins. “We’ll have quite a treat of a meal when you come home.”

Byleth notices the three men are staring at her and starts to shrink away. “What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing special. I just wanted to celebrate our success together on the last mission.”

“It was hardly successful,” a new voice pipes. Byleth turns around to see her brother walking down the stairs, frowning at their father. “Our client got injured by a blow we couldn’t protect against.”

“T-To be fair,” Byleth says, stuttering when her father’s men turn to her, “we did exactly as he wanted us to do and got him across the Adrestian border. He just got a few scrapes and bruises, that’s all.”

“Letting him get injured harms our reputation,” Belial scowls at her and she feels a flare of defensiveness overtake her.

“But he made it out _alive_, didn’t he?”

“Alive is a lot different from wounded.”

“_Minorly_ wounded.”

“Kids, kids,” Jeralt raises his hands and the two of them quiet. He approaches with a nonchalant smile, positively beaming, but there’s a lilt of warning in his voice that forces them to stay quiet. “You’re both right. The client got injured and it was our fault for not taking care of him better. However, he also gave us no grief for our failures and even rewarded us handsomely for our performance. Therefore, I consider our mission an overall success with some flaws to work out. Correct?”

Byleth looks to her brother and he gives a reluctant nod, almost sulking. “That is one way of putting things,” he relents.

Jeralt turns his attention to her and she shrinks under his gaze. “I agree,” she says.

Their father nods, patting them both on the head. His fingers alight softly on top of Byleth’s hair, gentle yet warming as their father holds his list in front of them.

“Now that you’re here, Belial,” he says, turning to her brother, “I want you to go with your sister to the market and fetch me some things.”

Belial takes up the list in his hands while Byleth takes the bag of money her father gives her. The two exchange glances and then nod.

“We can do that,” Belial says. “Anything else?”

“No, just that.” Jeralt shoos them along, nearly pushing them out the door of their house. “Go out and enjoy yourselves too. I’ve still got some things to discuss with my men.”

“Understood,” Belial glances at the three men watching them quietly, nodding his head with a smile on his lips. Then, he turns to Byleth. “Shall we?”

She nods and steps out the door. “We’ll be back before dark, dad!”

“Sounds good kiddo.”

Belial follows behind her. He closes the door and then takes a look over their list.

“Seems like dad’s really into meat.”

“Let me guess, boar and chicken?”

“Of course.”

They emerge onto a cobbled walkway escorted by a long stretch of wooden fence. A silver gate awaits the end of their walkway, blocking the way onto the large cement road that rolls around their village. Byleth pulls the gate open, letting her brother pass through it as she waits, follows, and then closes the gate behind her.

Stepping on to the long reach of road, Byleth watches as the citizens of Remire come out to greet her. Familiar faces offer up _hello_s and _good morning_s as they pass, the villagers nothing more than polite to the two as they pass.

“Everyone’s up and about today.” She says.

“Indeed.” Belial cups his chin, once again reading over the list their father has gifted him. “Do you think they’ll have tea this time at the market?”

“Tea?” She raises her eyebrows as her brother’s face flushes. “You’re really addicted to that stuff aren’t you?”

“Tea is good!” He protests. “It’s really tasty and there’s no other drink quite like it!”

“So you say. Yet, I still think coffee is so much better.”

“You have such bad taste,” he grumbles.

She huffs at him, lightly bumping her shoulder with his. He rolls his eyes, walking onwards, and they make their way through Remire Village all the way to the central square.

There, several dozen market stalls are set into place, draped in wares and managed by eager merchants. Byleth lets her eye wander over some of the items to purchase, finding herself drawn to exotic feathers placed tied to leather straps and swords placed atop metal displays. She turns to her brother and finds that his gaze has wandered too, eyes turning to glittering jewelry and lush roses.

“We’re here for food,” she tells him with a lilt of mourning in her voice. Byleth longs for the egregious trinkets as much as he does, drawn to their temptations, but she knows where their mission lies. She holds her father’s satchel of coins close to her chest, letting the coins clink loudly enough to catch her brother’s attention.

“Ah…right.” He proceeds to swallow, blatantly turning an eye away from such lovely products to progress towards the section of stalls marked with produce. He pauses in front of a fruit stand, frowning, before he tilts his head at the merchant in charge.

“Mrs. Smith,” he says. “How’s it going today?”

“Good, good,” the woman responds with an exuberant note of cheer in her voice. She holds out a hand and Belial hands her their list. The woman hums, picking up a box of oranges and placing a few in a bag. “Business is booming as usual. We’ve even got the blessing of some nobles upon us today.”

“Nobles?”

“Yes, some fancy folk,” Mrs. Smith looks at the both of them and leans in closer. “Two handsome young boys. Oh, and a pretty young girl too. They were dressed quite nicely and paid quite a pretty penny for some apples.”

“We don’t get much of them around here,” Byleth says. “Did you hear why they were here? Some sort of political trouble or whatnot?”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Mrs. Smith hands her bag of oranges to Byleth. She accepts them, placing a few coins in the older woman’s outstretched hand. “They said they were passing through and lost, the poor dears. They came from Garreg Mach, apparently, and ended up lost in the woods after an unfortunate detour.”

“Garreg Mach?” Belial frowns at the name. “As in, the monastery that sits in the middle of Fodlan?”

“Yes, yes, that one.”

“But why are they here? And where are their guards? It isn’t normal for them to be wandering around without help.”

Mrs. Smith sighs. “Now that you mention it, that is rather troubling to think about. Those three are nothing more than children. Yet, they did seem to be all alone. Oh, the poor things.”

Byleth raises her eyebrows at the woman’s dramatics. However, Mrs. Smith seems not to notice, fussing over the state of the lost individuals in question.

“Out of curiosity,” her brother begins, “do you know where those three went?”

“Just north of here. Why?”

“We might be able to help them get back home.” Belial’s eyes sparkle with a swell of righteousness and Byleth holds back a sigh. “It’s our duty as mercenaries to make sure they arrive to the monastery quickly and safely. After all, we must do our best to make the world a better place.”

“You and your ideals of justice,” Mrs. Smith gives a fond sigh and then shares a look of exasperation with Byleth. “Well, if you find them, hopefully they’ll be most pleased by your offering.”

“I’m sure they will,” he says, turning to Byleth and pointing in the northernmost direction of the village’s central square. “Let’s go look for them!”

“Belial!” She huffs. “They’ll probably be fine if we leave them alone. We shouldn’t involve ourselves with noble affairs. If we do, we’ll probably get in trouble with dad.”

“But I can’t sit idle when I know they’re all alone,” her brother shakes his head. “We _have_ to help them.”

“Have to, huh?”

Regardless, her brother drags her forward, shopping list left forgotten as they wind through concrete streets. Byleth can’t help but sigh at her brother’s sudden flare for altruism.

And, as much as she wants to chide him away from his sudden inclinations of selflessness, she knows better than to think to dissuade him. Her brother prided himself on his ability to help others whenever possible: so much so that he often refused to think of anything else but serving those in need.

So, though annoyed by her brother’s spitfire desire to meet with three troubled nobles, she can’t help but trod after him as they speed through the village. Houses made from brick and wood pass by her wary eyes, gaze searching for the source of her troubles as she carries on.

Eventually, however, on the north most border of the village do they stumble upon three youths draped in brilliant colors. The three are standing on the edge of the forest that decks the village, whispering amongst themselves, when they take notice of the twins and straighten straight away.

“Hello there!” Belial calls, walking up to them.

Byleth follows behind at a distance, eyeing them with uncertainty. They return the favor by exchanging looks amongst themselves, frowning.

“Hello,” the single girl of the group says. She brushes a hand through her snow-white hair (_Such a strange color_, Byleth thinks. _So unnatural._) and approaches with the two boys at her back.

“Are you lost?” Belial asks them. When they offer up no response, he gestures to Byleth and himself and then smiles. “We’re mercenaries here in this village. If you’d like, we can escort you back to the monastery.”

The girl bristles, a hand settling atop the dagger strapped to her belt. The two beside her – a blond-haired boy and a dark-skinned boy – place their hands upon the lance and bow respectively hanging from their persons.

“How did you know we were coming from the monastery?” The blond-haired boy dressed in a blue cape asks, caution bound to his voice.

Byleth holds up her hands and looks to her brother. He imitates the action, his eager smile turned to something almost nervous. “One of the merchants here told us about that. When I heard you’d come alone without soldiers to escort you, I thought I’d offer my dad’s services to you.”

“Your dad’s services?” The dark-skinned boy with a gold cape tilts his head.

“You may have heard of him. He goes by the name Jeralt of the Ashen Mercenaries.”

The blond boy frowns. “I have not heard that name before.”

“Nor have I,” the girl adds.

“Or I,” their third party member agrees.

“Pity,” Belial shakes his head. “Regardless, we heard of your plight. You’re lost and looking for your way to the monastery, right? We’d be more than happy to help you there.”

The girl seems to bristle at his suggestion. “We don’t have the need for-!”

“That is quite a wonderful offer,” the dark-skinned boy interrupts. When the girl shoots him an icy glare, he rolls his shoulders and approaches Belial with smooth steps. “I think we should accept it.”

“_Claude_,” the girl starts, “can we all _talk_ about this first?”

Byleth watches as the three congregate around each other, murmuring. The girl narrows her eyes, face clearly twisted in displeasure, while the blue-caped boy seems to sag in relief. The three continue whispering for a few more moments, sparing glances in Belial’s direction (and a few wary ones towards Byleth) before they nod in unison.

“As much as we would like to accept your offer,” the girl states, “we have agreed that we don’t wish to trouble you. A local merchant has already showed us the direction to get back home. Therefore, we will be fine without your guidance.”

Byleth observes the way her brother noticeably deflates, all his charitable offerings wobbling in the face of blatant rejection. “Alright,” he says. “I can respect that. But if you run into trouble, feel free to call for us. We live just south of here, in a big wooden house with four lanterns hanging from the front door. If you get into a pinch, we’ll be more than willing to help you out.”

“Thank you,” the blue-caped boy says, offering up a bow. “It is quite kind of you to think of us. I more than admire that sense of altruism in you. It is a fine quality for a knight.”

The boy named Claude snorts at this. “You’re too easily won over.”

“And you are too suspicious,” his companion retorts. “Is it not wise to thank someone for offering up their services? Especially if they do so without asking for compensation?”

The girl clicks her tongue. “We don’t have time to waste on idle chatter.” She turns to the twins, bowing. When she stands, her gaze seems to linger on Byleth. “We must hurry through the woods before night falls upon us.”

“Right you are, Your Highness,” Claude states with a mocking lilt in his voice. He turns to the other boy, harrying him onwards with a prod of his elbow. “Hear that, Dimitri? We don’t have time to waste.”

“I hear it alright,” the boy named Dimitri responds, stepping out of reach of Claude’s elbow. He sighs. “Come along then. Let us be on our way.”

The three nobles bow to Byleth and Belial, offering up their thanks, before they step outside Remire Village . They then move into the reaches of its surrounding forest, disappearing under stretching shadows as they fade into the distance.

Byleth watches them go, patting her brother’s shoulder in a display of sympathy.

“Can’t help them all,” she tells him. “Come on, we’ve got a list to fulfill.”

“Alright,” Belial sighs. He sends one glance at the forest in front of him, pausing, before he turns around and heads back into the confines of the village.

Byleth shakes her head and smiles.

_Him and his bleeding heart…_

* * *

They return home just as the sun starts to stride down from the sky. After a series of events (namely, fetching food from the market, playing with the local children in an exaggeratedly long game of tag, and chatting up the local townsfolk) they had made it home with bags of food attached to their arms and the three nobles forgotten from their minds.

Their father greets them at the entryway, the mercenaries that had roosted themselves inside his house earlier already out and gone. He escorts the twins inside, plucking some of the bags off their arms and then setting them inside the kitchen.

“You did good, you two,” the man says with praise in his voice. The two swell upon hearing it, nodding eagerly. “I’ll go ahead and start sorting everything out. Dinner will be ready in an hour or so.”

They nod, escaping to the living room and lounging atop couches surrounding a wooden coffee table.

Byleth rests on her back, arm placed on top of her eyes, and languishes in the darkness of sleepiness. She sighs, yawning, when a knock at the door startles her off the sofa.

“A visitor?” Belial asks.

Byleth looks to her father. He nods and, encouraged, she approaches the door with some amount of caution.

The knock persists, almost desperately, and Byleth swings the door open to reveal the creators of such a sound.

There in the doorway, to her shock, stands the three nobles from earlier. But, unlike when she had met them earlier, all prim and proper and standing with youthfulness in their brows, now they are standing before her tattered and severely out of breath.

“Hey,” the boy draped in gold – Claude? - says, his voice tight with nonchalance despite the way he sags against the doorframe. There’s a scratch across his left cheek that’s bleeding and he almost seems to be shaking badly. The mere sight has Byleth reaching out to steady him. “Come to the house with four lanterns on the front door, was it?”

Belial springs to her side, her brother looking over them with an aghast expression on his face.

“What happened? What’s going on? Are you hurt? Are you okay? Do you need treatment?”

“_Belial_,” their father states, approaching from behind and parting the twins to look at their newcomers. “Who are you three? And what happened here to make you so desperate to come to us?”

The girl of the group looks at her group members and gives a tired nod. “I am Edelgard von Hresvelgr,” she says. Jeralt jolts at the mention of her name and she – _Edelgard_ – nods her head. “Yes, I am the princess to the Adrestian Empire. We were being chased by bandits after having gotten lost on our way back to the monastery.”

Byleth’s eyes widen. _The Adrestian princess?_ What was a _princess_ doing all the way out here? And, were those two boys at her side her subjects? Were they her brothers, perhaps? But, no, they didn’t at all resemble one another, not in the least. And they didn’t _look_ like guards either. So were those two boys…?

“I see.” Jeralt says in a low voice. “That is quite troubling to hear. Come inside, quickly, and I’ll gather up my men. Belial, Byleth, watch over them and treat their wounds. It looks like we’ll have to postpone our dinner feast for the night.”

He ushers the three nobles inside, nods at each of them in reassurance, and then steps outside, letting the door slam behind him.

With their father gone and three panting strangers left in their care, the twins look to each other and then guide the trio to their sofas. The teens crowd together on the same sofa, pressing against each other, and Byleth can understand all at once their need for wariness.

“Byleth,” her brother tells her, inspecting each of the nobles in turn, “can you fetch me some vulneraries?”

She nods. “Of course.”

Her feet take her instantly where she needs to go, exiting the living room, traversing around the kitchen, and peeking into a storage closet stacked to the brim with medical supplies. She grabs a box of six vulneraries, carefully balancing them in her arms, before she retreats back to her brother’s side.

There, Belial extracts the vulneraries, one at a time, and offers them up to the three. They each take a bottle without hesitation, drinking transparent liquid brimming with magic, and sighing in relief when their minor wounds dissipate and a sparkle returns to their tired eyes.

“Thank you,” the boy says. “We are in your debt for your assistance.”

Claude nods. “And for your father’s help, too. This isn’t something we’re able to handle on our own.”

“Just what happened out there?” Byleth asks them. When they turn their gazes to her, she flushes. “I-I mean, you were fine just a couple of hours ago and y-yet…”

The blond-haired boy tilts his head at her. There’s something kindly polite about his gaze as he stares, lips pursing in thought. Byleth can’t help but notice with a start how handsome he is, with bright blue eyes and disheveled blond locks. In a way, the word “prince” fits him perfectly.

“I suppose introductions are in order,” Edelgard states, capturing Byleth’s gaze with the sharpness of her voice. Pretty purple eyes stare at Byleth, cold yet not unwelcoming as she speaks. “In order to better explain our situation, I am sure it is crucial we not withhold any information. Dimitri, if you would?”

The blond boy looks to her with a start before he turns to the twins, standing up and performing a bow. “My name is Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,” there’s a sharp intake from both Belial and Byleth and Dimitri offers them a shy nod, “I am indeed, as you have already guessed, the prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.”

“Both of these two are Her Highness and His Highness respectively,” Claude states with a lofty air about him. He seems so carefree and light-hearted to Byleth’s eyes, smiling gaily, and she can’t help but admire that sense of warmness. “But, as you might be able to guess, I am like Edelgard and Dimitri in some respects. Though my standing is of little importance, let’s be honest.”

Beside him, the blond-haired prince scowls. “Being the sole heir of Duke Reigan is no laughing matter,” he chides.

“It is a hefty responsibility,” Edelgard adds, narrowing her eyes, “one that you should not take lightly.”

“In other words, you’re destined to lead the Alliance?” Belial asks the gold-caped boy. “Would that make you Claude von Reigan, then?”

“That’s my name, yeah,” Claude puts his hands behind his head. “But don’t sweat the small stuff. It’s no big deal in the grand scheme of things.”

Dimitri shakes his head and looks at the twins with an apologetic smile.

“To answer your question about why the three of us ended up here,” the prince says, speaking in a silky voice, “we were being chased by bandits. A group of them, actually.”

“They all wanted our heads or something,” Claude snorts. He waves a hand. “Said something about a Flame Emperor having a h-u-g-e bounty on us. Apparently, we’re bigshots and we need our necks sliced into silence.”

Edelgard frowns. “It is…a most curious case. Why would someone go after us? I understand that we three are the future leaders of this continent but I do not believe the Flame Emperor would so greatly benefit from our demise.”

“Perhaps he wants all three thrones to himself? Or, ooh, what if he wanted to overthrow the church or something by killing us off? Or, better yet, perhaps he just wants to watch the world burn! Personally, if you ask me, watching the world just shrivel up and die sounds rather _fun_.”

“It would be ill of us to make assumptions,” Dimitri says, his lips turning downwards, “for all we know, this is the work of some noble who benefits greatly from putting bounties on our heads. Chaos and discord and…whatnot.”

“Way to tell me _not_ to make an assumption and than make an assumption yourself, _Your Highness_.”

“_Boys_,” Edelgard pinches the bridge of her nose, scowling, before she looks at Byleth. “Forgive them. We are all in a state of heightened tension right now.”

“And who can blame you?” Belial says with a murmur. “Being attacked by bandits all by your lonesomes doesn’t sound like a fun experience.”

Byleth raises her eyebrows at her brother, noticing with surprise the way his gaze is caught on Dimitri’s, before Edelgard speaks again.

“I thank you for the concern. However, as future leaders, we are more than capable of dealing with-!”

_BOOM!_

A loud noise files into Byleth’s ears. She shudders, looking at her brother, and he nods at her. They jump to the door, grabbing at twin swords residing upon a nearby weapons rack, and emerging with their blades pointed outwards.

Byleth inhales sharply.

A bright fire blazes in the darkness of dusk, eating at wooden houses and sending people screaming. A few pass by the gates of their house, flailing, and Byleth runs to one of them, unlocking and throwing their gate door aside to grab at a child’s arm.

“Hey, _hey_,” she tells the kid – a young boy she knows as Adam – as softly as she can manage. He is sobbing, eyes darkened with red, and Byleth tries her best to alleviate his stress with a soothing voice. “Can you tell me what’s going on here?”

“Bandits!” The boy shrieks, struggling against her grip. Little Adam looks almost desperate, eyes wide with panic. “There are bandits attacking!”

“Bandits?” Edelgard pulls out an axe from a satchel strapped around her waist, manifesting it into view and holding before her. “Are they the same ones as before?”

“I would say you’re right, Your Highness,” Claude steps forward, producing a bow before him. “They must have tracked us here.”

Dimitri’s face twists in anger. He calls a lance into his hands, pointing it forward and taking steps towards the depths of the burning village. “We need to stop them.”

Byleth releases Adam’s arm, letting him go, before she hurries in front of Dimitri with her arms spread out. “We can’t rush in so recklessly!” She tells him. “We should at least wait until Dad comes back with soldiers!”

“We can’t afford to wait!” Dimitri snaps back and, all at once, Byleth feels something angry waft off of him. She shrinks back as he marches past her, lance held before him as if to wait for an inevitable attack.

Claude follows after the boy, a mocking laugh slipping past his lips as he says: “Slow down, Your Highness Number Two.” When Dimitri shoots him a glare, Claude raises his hands. “I’m coming too, naturally.”

Byleth turns to Edelgard and her brother, helpless, and both give her a sympathetic look.

“I will join them,” Edelgard says, gaze locking with Byleth’s. Icy eyes hold hers for a moment, almost curious, before the white-haired girl nods and follows the other two heirs.

“And you?” Byleth asks her brother. “We should _really _wait for Dad to come back. If we act now, the worst case scenario could happen! We’re not prepared to handle it – _they_ aren’t prepared to handle it if they had to come running to us in the first place for help!”

Belial grimaces. “While I understand that chasing after them is questionable, it’s the duty of us mercenaries to lend our services when needed. If we let the three heirs to the continent die when we could have had a chance to save them, it will reflect badly upon our father. And we don't want that, do we?”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’re mad.” She draws her sword from its scabbard and shakes her head. “And I’m even more mad for listening to you. Fine. Let’s go save some nobles.”

“That’s the spirit!” Her brother claps his hands together, agreement in his gaze as he pulls out his own sword and hurries her along.

Byleth chases after him, following in step with Claude. He tosses her a look, one almost empty yet with just the tiniest spark of intrigue, before he nods and allows her to accompany him. On the other side of him slips in Belial, wrenched between Edelgard and Dimitri as they approach the burning blaze.

Smoke chokes the air, creating a black haze that stings at Byleth’s eyes. Alarm keeps her on her toes, a sleeve passing over her mouth as she progresses through the smog of the town. At her side is Claude, an arrow glinting on his bow as he follows from behind. Branching from them, Byleth watches as her brother and the other two heirs duck behind a stone wall.

Voices speak in the distance and Byleth watches as shadows move through the smoke, carrying burning torches between them. She ducks low behind the back of a house. Claude follows her lead, sidling up against the wooden planks before peering around the corner.

“How many are there?” She asks him.

“Easily ten or so.” Claude frowns. “But there were at least thirty that attacked us earlier. So, there might be more around still.”

“_Thirty?_” She pales. “Why are _thirty_ bandits trying to kill you three?”

“Beats me,” he shrugs, drawing back the string of his bow and pointing an arrow into the darkness. She watches him with alarm, almost hissing for him to stop in the name of _caution_, when he fires the arrow off into the darkness.

There’s a scream and, immediately, the shadows break through the smog to approach. Those shadows transform into men and woman cloaked in dark clothes and adorned with bloodstained weapons.

Edelgard and Dimitri dash forward, moving in turn as they slice at the onslaught of opponents that faces them. Belial jumps in after them, his sword flashing as he slashes down upon his enemies. Blood burns the village red, splattering upon cobbled roads and wooden walls. Byleth watches as Claude nocks another arrow, launching it into the darkness and is soon met with a furious snarl.

“What are you doing?” The dark-skinned boy asks her, not looking at her but talking to her all the same. “Shouldn’t you be fighting too?”

She flusters. Realizing that she’s been caught up in the commotion of her worries, she holds her sword up and gives a nervous smile. “Yeah. I probably should.”

The girl rushes into battle, face red with embarrassment, and cuts down at the bandits that approach her. Two men instantly rush her, one wielding a sword that parries her own and the other wielding an axe. The two work in time, cutting off Byleth’s movements and forcing her into a corner. She growls, her mercenary instincts flaring up at once, and she tries pushing them back to no avail. She spins, slicing at the air, when an arrow cuts past her shoulder and shoots one of her opponents in the head.

A gurgling splutter is heard as the man collapses, red leaking from the wound as his body drops to the floor. Byleth hesitates for just a moment, confusion taking her, when her second opponent brings his sword down upon her. She blocks the blow, fumbling a few steps back, and then throws off her attacker and brings her sword down into his gut.

He dies like a fish, splashing about on land, and then draws his final breath. Byleth watches his soul depart, eyes narrowing, and then extracts her blade to shake off the blood.

The noise of clapping hands garners her attention.

“Well done, well done,” Claude appears at her side, slinking through the darkness of the smoke with his bow tucked underneath his arm. “Ooo, don’t glare. You look scary when you glare.”

“I’m guessing you’re the one who shot that arrow?”

“I am.”

“You need to be more careful then,” she chides, “that arrow could’ve shot me instead if I had moved the wrong way.”

“But it didn’t.”

“But what if it had?”

Cold, calculating green eyes look over her. Byleth shudders under his gaze, taking a wary step back.

“You made it out alive.” He says. “I don’t see what the problem is.”

The indifference in his voice makes her uneasy. She holds her sword before her, using it as a barrier between him and her, and she doesn’t miss the way his hand falls on the hilt of the blade tucked at his waist.

Then, another scream cuts through the air and Byleth is swirling around to watch as Edelgard is pushed back by a group of three men. Their leader, a burly man with black hair pulled back into a ponytail and eyes the color of a desert snake, raises his axe, charging at the girl.

Byleth reacts on instinct, running to the girl’s side. 

Edelgard pulls out a pitiful dagger to block the oncoming attack (_Where is her axe?_ Byleth wonders) before Byleth wraps Edelgard into the safety of her arms.

There’s a heartbeat. Edelgard’s chest presses against hers, tight and uncomfortable. Byleth’s sword falls from her hands, slipping to the ground. Edelgard’s voice is choking – “_Why?_” – and Byleth can only smile at her as an axe plunges down upon her back.

She sees stars…

And then she sees nothing.

* * *

A boy draped in smoke watches the battlefield from afar. Dark eyes observe with mild interest, fixating upon a red-caped girl as she brandishes her dagger before her. Purple sparks on his fingers, a mysterious energy coursing through his body as he hits the butt of an axe upon the rooftop beneath him.

“Seems like I might need to interfere after all,” he chuckles, the magic on his fingertips blossoming to a dangerous level of light.

Then, a girl with blue hair leaps in front of the girl, taking her into her arms and hugging her close. An axe closes down upon her and, all at once, the boy’s senses flare with alarm.

Around him, in the vestiges of the parallel planes that run throughout the world, something fractures.

The blue-haired girl turns into splinters and, caught up in something dark and mysterious, the boy can only watch helplessly as pieces of glass shatter and the world falls to darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has magical satchels w/ the hammer space trope attached because why not.
> 
> One thing to get used to for this fanfic is me jumping around into different character’s heads as the story progresses. The main characters of this fanfic are, of course, Claude, Edelgard, Dimitri and the twins but, while they will receive the most emphasis, I also will explore other characters from time to time too.
> 
> This means that, while I will spend a majority of my time writing from the point of view of Byleth and Belial, (and sometimes the three house leaders), I’ll also be writing for characters like Kronya, Jeralt, Hilda, Ingrid, etc. when I feel is necessary. 
> 
> By doing this, I can expand upon this longfic without neglecting its awesome characters or the world it takes place in. That, and I easily get bored of staying in one character’s point of view for a long amount of time so lol there’s that too
> 
> If anyone has any questions about this series feel free to ask lol bc I know I’m basically jumping into this project w/ most of it locked behind my head so if anything’s confusing/weird feel free to inquire about this fanfic anytime :D


	3. Owl in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time reverses and a meeting with a boy and an owl is had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanfic update :D 
> 
> And no, i could not think of a better name for this chapter asdfghjk
> 
> I've decided to include Felix/Dimitri as a major pairing in this fanfic and work with writing both Dimitri/Byleth and Dimitri/Felix for this fanfic until I can decide which one I want more in this story. I can say, however, that after reading up on a variety of Felix/Dimitri fanfics (namely, groundcover's Hot2touch) I'll likely be leaning towards the major pairings being Felix/Dimitri and M!Byleth/Edelgard in the long run, if only because I feel like I can make these two pairings work better than Dimitri/Byleth. We'll see tho, especially since not everything in this longfic is set in stone :P
> 
> Edit August 3rd: fuck i apparently deleted the very first line in this chapter and never noticed. It's up there now but fdjfhjhfj i'm so embarrassed i never noticed

* * *

Chapter 1.2: Owl in the Night

* * *

In a place of no name, something awakens. 

This something comes in the disguise of a little girl, human-like in appearance yet coated in a strange ooze of power. She opens up eyes of green, a hand reaching up to stifle a yawn, and the two ribbons wrapped around her wrists wave as if to greet her.

She stretches out a hand, fingers extending into space. Magic seeps from her fingernails, invisible tendrils reaching out to construct a pattern most uncanny. What was once transparent manifests as a symbol of strength, intricate lines appearing before her in a strange yet familiar pattern.

The rune hovering before her glows with an orange light, washing her chambers with a warm orange glow that reveals everything before her. A room cloaked in darkness and now blessed with luminance awaits her unyielding gaze, revealing the presence of her throne, the set of stairs that leads down from it, and a wide expanse of a room covered in glowing moss.

Her rune pulsates and, as if struck by something horrible, the girl falters. She winces, a hand held to her head, and then unfolds the symbol into a swirl of light.

From inside her transformed creation, she watches as an axe strikes a blue-haired girl. The pain of the blow shoots through the green-eyed girl, symptoms of agony affecting her as if she, too, has been struck by an axe.

“This just won’t do,” the girl says, flicking a hand and watching as the portal of light before her extends outwards with the vestiges of her rune. “I can’t have you dying on me. Not yet.”

Fire sparks inside the chamber, burning brightly, before it sizzles out and a dazzling cold fills the air.

“Now _come_.”

* * *

When the world falls apart, Belial is the only one to see it.

First, it starts with a scream. Edelgard, after having been separated from him and Dimitri by a stray blow, was screaming. Three men have her cornered against a wooden wall, raising weapons up to keep her in place. A muscular man, one decked in dark clothes and yet wearing the eyes of a desert snake, descends upon the white-haired girl, his axe slamming down upon her.

Then, it continues with his sister. Byleth jumps in the way of the blow, clutching the girl to her chest as the axe falls down. The blade chops into his sister’s back like a knife does through butter, cleaving into her skin and bones. Belial’s heart quickens, anger and fear biting at him all at once, before he watches in horror as Byleth’s body shatters before him.

Except, her body doesn’t so much shatter as it does manifest a spiderweb of cracks that intrude into his reality. Something dark and mysterious reaches into the world, allowing for cracks to appear in the image before him like the center point of broken glass.

Everything stills. Dimitri pauses mid-leap, floating in the air with his blue cape whirling around him. His opponent raise her sword with anticipation, arms pulling back as if to block his blow. Edelgard remains still in Byleth’s arms, her dagger glinting in the space between them. Byleth herself remains frozen, the beginning of blood spurting out of her backside while little red drops splatter on her attacker’s arm.

Then, the world before him breaks, crumbling away like sand as the scenery before Belial changes into that of a black chamber. Cold gnaws at him but so does a mysterious power. An enormous sense of pressure heaves at his chest, making his heart dance in his stomach as he realizes his sister is sitting right beside him.

Her gaze is alight with a strange mix of curiosity and horror, her eyes staring at her hands and then at him.

“Am I dead?” She asks Belial. “Did you die too?”

“I-” his voice catches in his throat. “I don’t know.”

Because, after all, how does one explain seeing the world fall to pieces like glass from a shattering window?

“You are not dead. Not yet.”

Both twins startle as a voice from above calls to them. Belial twists his head up to look at the speaker of such ominous words, breath catching in his throat as a girl descends down a flight of stairs.

And, by all appearances, this girl is human. Green hair strewn in ponytails bounces at her back, ribbons of red, white, and green threading through her hair. She appears young, like a child, and the odd bounce in her step does little to mitigate that feeling.

Yet, as Belial stares upon her, he can’t help but grab his sword and hold it before him. The girl appears human, yes, but she is emitting a monstrous power that has him questioning the nature of her appearance. That, and the way her stoic emerald eyes watch him, questioning yet not unyielding, has him ready to protect Byleth if needed.

“I will not harm your sister,” the girl says. When he stumbles in shock, she frowns and elaborates. “I can read your thoughts and your emotions. And, while I admire your devotion to your sister, you need not worry her with your antics. She is just as wary of me as you yourself are, after all.”

Belial looks to his sister and watches as the girl meets the stranger’s gaze with wide eyes. He reluctantly lowers his blade. Yet, he refuses to let go of it, tightening his grip around the hilt.

“Why are we here? Where is this?” Byleth asks from beside him. She is as pale as can be, shaking, and yet still capable of mustering up her voice as she faces the thing before them. “What _are_ you?”

“Such simple questions,” the stranger sighs, pressing her fingertips to her forehead, “very well, I suppose I must explain some things to alleviate your fears. It would not do to have you cowering before me like this. No, it would not do at all.”

She steps closer. Byleth presses against Belial’s shoulder and he reciprocates by sidling alongside her. The strange girl descends down a silver staircase, a strange light washing over the room as she comes before them. Her hands are held in front of her in a v-shape, one hand on top the other, and in some ways Belial is reminded of a young woman simmering with patience.

“My name is Sothis,” she says.

Belial eyes her warily. He recognizes that name. It’s a precious one, a name he holds dearly. And, hearing this stranger speak it so lightly has him curling his lips up at her. “You would _dare_ to take the name of our Goddess?”

The girl frowns. “I do not wish to stain the name of such an important historical figure. Looking through your minds, I see her name as very sacred to you. It is ill of me to assume a stranger wielding her name would incite amiability in you both. However, I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice.”

“What choice?” Byleth asks, eyebrows furrowing.

The girl – Sothis – nods. “You see, I’ve lost my memories. Most of them, anyways. Of the memories I have remaining, however, I can recall myself being named Sothis. I have not wielded any other name to my recollection so I am to assume my name is Sothis.”

Glistening green eyes turn to Byleth, then to Belial. The girl’s gaze lingers upon him, emanating something strangely lonely. He is captivated by those eyes, all sense of hostility dissipating with some foreboding sense of familiarity. For a moment, he feels something like a void open up inside him. From that void comes a sense of emptiness, of succumbing to fear, loneliness, sadness and…hope?

Sothis’s fingertips touch upon Belial’s cheeks and he recoils, jumping back. The girl gives him a displeased look, turning to his sister. She reaches out for Byleth but the girl follows in her brother’s footsteps, backpedaling with her shoulders raised and sword stretching before her.

“I see that we are connected, you and I. How fascinating.” Sothis marvels at the both of them. When Belial narrows his eyes at her, she sighs yet again. “As for your other questions, I’m afraid they are hard to answer. This chamber is mine, but I don’t know what it’s for. I am human, or at least I believe myself to be, especially in this body of mine. As for why you are both here well…” Sothis looks at Byleth and scowls, “take a guess.”

“Am I dead, then?” Byleth asks. “Have you come to take my soul?” She shoots a look to Belial and then jumps in front of him. “I won’t let you take his! Let him go!”

“What odd leaps in logic. What possible conjectures have led you to speak such words?” There’s aggravation in Sothis’s voice and, with it, a sense of pressure that makes Belial’s legs want to wobble. “I am not here for your _soul_. Why would I want a _soul?_ Honestly, the nerve of such a question!”

“If you don’t want her…her _soul_,” Belial steps forward, “then what do you want?”

“To scold you!” Sothis’s voice goes up an octave, annoyance pinching her face into a scowl. “You spent your life so carelessly on a little girl! I can feel your pain, you know! If I hadn’t have stopped time, your sister would be bleeding to death and I with her! Not only that but _you_-“ Sothis points at Belial, “-would be dead too.”

“Too? What do you mean by _too?_”

“Argh, how much exposition must I give?” Sothis waves her hands in a display of exaggeration. “Very well, let us make this simple, shall we? You two and I are connected by an invisible bond. The proof of this is that you can sense my emotions just as I can yours and that I can feel the pain you yourselves endure. I have no explanation for why this is or why I am connected to you, but these are the hypotheses I have gathered.

“Furthermore, while I have no memories to speak of and seem to be unable to leave this strange domain, there are a few things I am certain of. One is that my life is in your hands. If either of you two die, then I will as well.

“Two is that you will die together. Just as I am connected to you, so are you two to each other. Either of your deaths will result in my loss. And, as I wish to continue existing, as well as to keep you two alive, I ask that you don’t question my words by taking a blade to each other.

“Thirdly, I have the power to control time and space. I’ve already proven as such by taking you from your world and placing you both here. In this chamber, you will not bleed to death nor will you age. If you will it, I can let you stay here for as long as you please. However, a life here will be dismal and boring. I can not imagine you wanting that. So, I will give you two a gift. It is a precious gift, one that you must use wisely, but a gift nonetheless. It will return you to your world unharmed, but it will come with a price. Despite this, will you accept it?”

The girl pauses, taking in a deep breath with the tips of her fingers pressed to her chest. She stands, waiting, her gaze flicking between them two with her head tilting upwards.

Belial feels his head rolling with information. The words the girl speaks are nonsensical, pungent with the foulness of lies and myths. Yet, the girl exudes a kind of power beyond reasoning, extreme pressure clutching at his chest like an extreme blow from a magical attack.

Not only that but there’s an undeniable sense of truth in her words. Her voice speaks in riddles, but he can tell instinctively that she is telling nothing but the sincerest of secrets. His heart throbs in a strange form of yearning, his gaze locking with hers and yielding to the girl as if she were some sort of deity.

His unease gradually dissipates until only uncertainty remains. He spares a glance at his sister. She looks back at him, nodding. She can feel it too, the need to trust the apparition that stands before them. It is a mysterious feeling, one that Belial does not trust yet cannot shake himself of, so reluctantly he buries his sword into its scabbard and sighs.

Sothis’s gaze flits over to Byleth. “And you? This gift will spare you the agony of the death. Would you like to live on, child? Or will you stay here for an eternity? I will not allow you to die, but I cannot send you back until you’ve agreed to accept my present.”

Belial watches as his sister swallows. Byleth’s face runs pale, eyebrows knitting in that conspicuous way of hers as she ponders the offer held before her.

“How,” she starts, wariness proud in her voice as she speaks, “do I know your offer isn’t something malicious?”

That extreme pressure builds up in the air yet again and Belial watches as his sister visibly winces. She’s shrinking away, recoiling at the sensation, yet she holds her ground. Belial follows her example, cringing as his legs shake beneath him, yet he still manages to stand against the divine power eating away at him,

“Ugh, such _children_.” Sothis pinches the bridge of her nose. “You know what? _Fine_. I won’t give either of you my gift. Not yet, at least. Not until I know you can trust me. No, rather, I’ll give you a taste of it. But only a taste! And once you’ve saved those three kids and settled down, I’ll come back to offer it again! We’ll see how hesitant you are _then_.”

The twins press to each other at the girl’s words. Belial feels an inkling of fear strike at him, a thread of worry running through his veins. He feels like a little boy under the scrutiny of his mother, chided and scolded until the need for appeasement takes him.

“I will give you one chance. I will reset time to the moment before you need to take action. Use this time wisely. If you do not, we will be having _quite_ the conversation. I do not wish to die again, after all.”

Before any of them can say anything, Sothis snaps her fingers and the world fades away.

* * *

Time rewinds and Byleth can _feel _it. She can feel the way invisible gears move backwards, how the world before her ticks until it rewinds itself into place. It’s almost a suffocating feeling, one she has no control over yet happens anyways.

Then, a high-pitched scream rears itself into the sky and Byleth realizes with a start that Claude is standing before her, eyes wide and lips parting. His gaze holds hers for a millisecond, wavering. However, Byleth has no time to hold his gaze. She has something she must do, however, so she pays little attention to him as she runs to Edelgard’s side.

(_It’sthesameit’sthesameit’sthesame_)

Byleth pulls her sword out in front of her, dancing in front of the white-haired girl as she retrieves a dagger. The muscular man that Byleth remembers (_hestabbedherhestabbedherhestabbedher)_ plunges his axe down, letting loose a battle cry as Byleth blocks the attack.

Her attack gets thrown off, the sheer impact of his own blow sending him backwards. Byleth takes the moment to breathe, her throat constricting with unpleasant memories as she holds her sword before her.

Three men charge her, anger on their faces, but their blows are all defected by her brother and Dimitri, the two boys rushing in to defend her. An arrow pierces through the darkness of smoke, nailing one of the men in the head. He falls with a shriek, earning his companions a sense of unease as they step back.

“Fools!” Shouts Byleth’s earlier attacker. The muscular man with eyes the color of a desert snake rises, anger clear in his face and spittle on his lips. “Kill them!”

The men steel themselves at his words and Byleth realizes all at once that that man must be their leader. She swings her sword through the formation of men that approach her, parrying blows and working her way through the crowd, when a cry sounds through the smoke.

“Belial! Byleth!”

_Dad!_

Byleth watches as her father appears from the darkness, settled atop his prized horse as he charges into battle. He wields a lance, cutting through those who rush him, and Byleth can’t help but watch as several familiar faces join him, each cloaked in the armored uniform of a mercenary.

The leader of the bandits snarls at the sight of Jeralt. However, he raises fingers to his lips and lets loose a sharp whistle.

“We’re retreating!” He shouts.  
  
Men dressed in black heed his call, following after the man as he retreats from battle. Byleth watches as her father’s men chase after them, roaring with weapons in the air as they pursue the bandits.

“Byleth, are you alright?”

Her father trots his horse to stand in front of her. His gaze is tossed down upon her kindly, a smile on his face as he reaches down to ruffle her hair.

“Y-Yes, I think so.” The stutter in her own voice surprises her. As does the fact that her body is shaking, trembling with an unknown source of adrenaline as her brother clasps a hand on her shoulder.

He gazes at her, understanding alight in his eyes, and then shakes his head. _Don’t say a thing,_ he mouths.

Her lips move in response. _We’ll talk later then._

“And you three?” Jeralt asks, gaze tossing between the three nobles who have come to stand beside Byleth and her brother. “Are you unharmed?”

“I am,” Edelgard says, tossing a look to Byleth, “and I thank you for my life. If not for you, I surely would have perished.”

Something strangely fond creeps into the girl’s voice. It is in direct contrast with the coldness of her face, frosty purple eyes looking over Byleth as if to scrutinize her. Byleth offers up a nervous nod, leaning away from the girl’s icy gaze.

“It was no big deal.” She says. “R-Really. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“That’s good to hear,” her father slides off his horse, grabbing at its reins. He looks at Dimitri and Claude, both of whom are standing shoulder-to-shoulder and giving the man wary looks. “And I would imagine you two are unharmed as well?”

“We-” Dimitri’s voice seems to catch in his throat and he clears it with a cough, “we’re okay, thank you.”

“I’m glad.” Her father nods, then watches as his men reappear, parting their way through smoke with a cough. He turns to them, pausing for a moment to look at the five teenagers standing before him. “For now, all five of you should rest. My men will search the village for survivors and put out the fire. While they do not, get yourselves out of harms way and return to the house.”

“But!” Dimitri looks at Jeralt, his voice raising. “We can’t just stand by and do nothing! If people are hurt, I want to help them!”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that. You’re important to Fodlan and if you help us, there’s no guarantee we can keep you safe if any bandits remain in hiding.”

“That doesn’t matter to me! I’m strong! I can handle anything that comes my way!” Dimitri’s eyes narrow and he turns to Claude and Edelgard. “As princess of the Empire and future duke of the Alliance, you two should make it your jobs to help the people of this continent, is that not correct?”

“It is,” Edelgard states, matching Dimitri’s gaze. “However, this man – Jeralt - is right. We are important to our respective nations. We need not heedlessly plunge ourselves into danger when we should be resting and figuring out what to do next.”

Dimitri curls his lips at her. “Do you not care for the lives of people burning inside buildings? The lives trapped by bandits and left to die?”

“Of course I care.” Edelgard raises her chin, her expression unintelligible. “Still. Let the mercenaries take care of them. That’s what they’re here for. Not us.”

Anger takes the prince’s eyes. He turns to Claude. “And you?”

Claude shakes his head, voice smooth and velvety despite the exertion on his skin. “I side with her. There’s no need for our involvement. Besides,” he casts a look at Edelgard. The girl raises her eyebrows, beginning to open her mouth, when Claude speaks over her. “I don’t hear the screams of anyone who needs help. Do you?”

This gives Dimitri pause. He stands still, eyebrows furrowing, and Byleth follows his example. Indeed, all she can hear is the crackling of fire as it eats into wood, a haze of smoke overtaking the air but no sign of a single oxygen-deprived body to be seen. Dimitri quiets, all his arguments seemingly lost in a fit of surprise.

Jeralt grunts. “What a fine observation, young man,” he says to Claude. “Still, we cannot take chances on things like this. Byleth, Belial, for now show them the way back to the house. We’ll talk later.”

The man mounts his horse and rides off without bothering for an answer. Byleth glances at her brother. He nods and then looks to the three heirs. “Follow us,” he says.

Belial coughs as he inhales a patch of smoke and then turns around on his heels to lead them all back. Byleth follows behind him, holding a hand over her mouth as she stands in the back.

A handkerchief appears on the edge of her vision. Byleth watches as Edelgard offers her the item, a second handkerchief to her mouth.

“Take it,” the girl says, “it’ll keep the smoke out of your lungs.”

“Ah, thanks.” Byleth takes the item and mimics Edelgard’s movements, pressing the object to her lips. Something about the action makes Edelgard’s eyes begin to sparkle, the girl almost pleased (_pleased?_) at Byleth’s acceptance.

Byleth doesn’t miss the way Claude’s gaze wanders in their direction or how his brows furrow just the slightest bit. Eerie curiosity lights up on his features, green eyes holding hers for just a moment’s time.

He looks away. She wraps her arms around herself, shuddering.

Edelgard only offers her a frown.

* * *

By the time Belial returns to the house, settles down, and manages to scrounge up a meal over grocery leftovers, his father is already in the door and greeting the five of them with a flat line for lips.

“Tell me,” he says to the three nobles, each of whom perk up when his gaze falls upon them, “do any of you know warp magic?”

Claude and Dimitri immediately look to Edelgard and she scowls. “Just because the Empire is known for magic doesn’t mean I can use magic,” she says with a huff. “But to answer your question specifically, I do not know warp magic. Why?”

“For one reason or another, all the civilians were evacuated via warp magic before the fire broke out.” Jeralt places a hand on his head, eyebrows knitting together. “But it wasn’t one of my men who did such a thing. And I doubt those bandits would care for the well-being of villagers.”

“But who else could it be?” Belial swivels his head to watch as Claude asks the question. The dark-skinned boy cocks his head, curious, but with the hint of knowing on his smiling lips. “Unless we’re talking about someone we _all _don’t know?”

“A third party?” Jeralt ventures, looking rather intrigued by the boy’s statement.

“Maybe,” Claude shrugs, putting his hands behind his head. “Couldn’t say. I was more focused on the battlefield. But,” he closes his eyes and cracks one open, “I did see an interesting thing on the battlefield.”

“Do go on.”

“A boy was standing on one of the rooftops as we were fighting. He was wielding some kind of magic. But, he wasn’t attacking the bandits nor was he helping us. The logical conclusion? There’s something more that’s going on behind the scenes here.”

Belial looks at him. The boy’s words pluck an ominous string in the tension of the room, making each and every occupant tense. Unconsciously, his hand falls upon his sword hilt, uncertainty taking him.

“Like a…conspiracy?” The teal-haired boy asks.

Claude looks at him with that one eye of his. “Bingo.”

A hush falls upon them. Belial looks between them all, noting the way his father frowns in thought and the way Edelgard bites at her bottom lip. He especially takes note of Dimitri, gaze caught on the way Dimitri’s eyes narrow and then darken.

“Are you saying there’s more to this than just bandits after a bounty on our heads?” The prince asks.

“I am suggesting that yes. But, don’t get your cape in a twist. There’s not much evidence to suggest anything of note yet. Only one measly bounty and a curious bystander. For now, we should just keep our eyes peeled. Wouldn’t want to get stabbed in the back suddenly. Right, Your Highness?”

Claude’s second eye opens and he turns to look at Edelgard. She meets his gaze and nods.

“Indeed. It would do us wisely to pay attention from here on out. This incident has opened my eyes. We cannot carelessly travel like we have done today.”

“Speaking of that,” Jeralt speaks up and all five of his audience members turn to face him. He takes a seat across from the three heirs, hands intertwining in his lap as he addresses them. “Why are you three all here and all alone? I know the monastery’s teachings. They wouldn’t be so foolish as to allow three future leaders to be wandering together in the woods like sitting ducklings. Mind telling me how you ended up coming all the way out here?”

The two boys turn to look at Edelgard and she flushes a bright red.

“It was,” she starts, “my fault. I got us lost.

“You see, we were with each of our respective classes on an assignment from the monastery. There have been sightings of a strange figure, of a being known as the Flame Emperor, and we were to look into him.”

Belial watches her. The girl’s expression is tinged with shame, white hair falling from her shoulders and dripping down on either side of her face. Her fingers dig in her knees, nails pulling back the red fabric dressed over her legs.

“I’ve heard of the Flame Emperor,” Jeralt speaks. “But he’s just a myth. It’s foolish to be investigating something that doesn’t exist.”

Edelgard nods. “I voiced my complaints on that too. However, the Archbishop, our leader, thought it best for all of us to look into it. I cannot question her thinking, but I do wonder the worth of having done such a task.”

“We were told to eliminate him at all costs if we were to find him.” Dimitri states. “And while I agree with Edelgard at the impossibility of such a task, I trust in the Archbishop’s guidance. She wouldn’t send all of us on a mission so blindly if there wasn’t merit in an investigation.”

Edelgard’s fingers tighten their grip on the fabric beneath, pulling it taut towards her. “Regardless, when we made our way to our destination – a city a little ways south from here – we found nothing. However, I had found a lead that sounded to be credible, a lead I needed to act fast on.”

“And what lead was that?” Jeralt asks.

The girl looks to the two boys. Dimitri nods, beckoning her onwards, while Claude merely shrugs his shoulders.

“Well, I had heard a rumor that he was present in Remire Village. And that he would only be staying for one more day. The source was from a merchant who had come travelling from this village. He had told me that he’d seen the Flame Emperor and had met him here.

“So, knowing this, I turned to Claude and Dimitri and asked for their assistance. I knew there was no time to lose but I could not waste trying to convince our teachers to allow us to do so. Where we go and what we do outside of the monastery is determined by the Archbishop’s words. We didn’t have time to waste waiting for her approval to progress.”

Dimitri hums in agreement. “We cannot wait idly for proof to come to us. We have to search for it. I was surprised when Edelgard came to us and asked for our assistance. But I agree with her thinking. In order to fulfill our mission properly, we could not have let any possible leads escape us.”

“Yet,” Claude says, “when we got here, we found that lead to be false. There’s been no trace of the Flame Emperor anywhere.”

“Indeed.” Edelgard sighs. “It is my fault. I was foolish enough to chase after such a lead. I fear a darker power is at play and, because of my actions, I’ve unwittingly led us all into an unfortunate situation.”

Edelgard hangs her head, low and almost mournful.

“I see,” Jeralt rubs his chin. “And do you think the man that Claude has seen could have had something to do with this…Flame Emperor? Seems rather suspicious, if you ask me.”

“I’ve considered that. However, I am unsure if the two are correlated.” She sighs, shaking her head. Then, she yawns, rubbing at her eyes as if she’s feeling sleepy. “There is simply too much to think about at this hour, I’m afraid, and not enough time for me to process any of it.”

Jeralt nods. “It is getting late,” he agrees. “I know you three have been through a long day. If you like, I’m willing to let you stay here for the night until we can escort you to the monastery. I have some of my men posted outside this house too just incase. You won’t need to worry about another bandit attack here.”

“I’ll take you up on your offer then,” Claude says, releasing a loud yawn. “As long as we’re safe and allowed a wink of sleep, I can’t complain.”

Dimitri nods. “Nor can I. Such generosity would be frightening to deny in a moment of need.”

“I’m with them,” Edelgard yawns, apparently infected by Claude’s own. She blinks sleepily at Jeralt. “May I ask though where we would be sleeping?”

Jeralt looks at Claude and Dimitri. “You would be sleeping in Belial’s, my son’s, room.” He looks at Edelgard. “And you would be with my daughter, Byleth. However, I’ll have you two take the guest room together for tonight. It’ll be crowded, otherwise.”

“Byleth…” Edelgard seems to taste the name on her lips. She looks at the girl. Byleth gives a nod in return. Belial smiles at the interaction. His sister is not known for her love of being social. Still, she doesn’t look nearly as alarmed by Edelgard as she should be. Belial takes that as a good sign.

Claude and Dimitri stand, both boys going to Belial’s side. He nods at them, standing and winds his way up the stairs and into his room. The heirs follow him in, taking cursory glances at his and Byleth’s room.

“You have a diary?” Claude asks, beckoning to a leather-bound book strapped tightly with a locket. “Or is that your sister’s?”

“Mine,” Belial says. “It’s personal.”

Claude nods. “Of course.”

He eyes the boy for a bit before remembering something. “Wait here.” He says.

Belial lets them look around, finding his way to the closet down the hall and opening it up. He pulls out two futons, gathering two more only when he hears his sister pad up to join him.

“About that girl…” She starts.

He glances behind them. The hallway is empty. Still, he lowers his voice to a whisper.

“Do you still remember…getting stabbed?”

Byleth’s voice is quiet. “I do.”

“Then you remember time reversing?”

“Yes. It was…strange. Right now everything feels a bit…surreal, doesn’t it?”

“Mm.” He hands her the spare futons. “I don’t understand it myself. Still, this feels like the type of thing we shouldn’t speak about while we have guests around. Those three will be leaving tomorrow, right? Let’s talk more then.”

“Okay.” She accepts his offerings, nodding. “I’ll do that then.”

She hurries off, striding down past their room and into the one adjacent to it. He follows after her for a short moment, before pausing to make a detour. He meets Claude’s and Dimitri’s expectant gazes as he hands them each the futons.

“Thanks for this,” Dimitri says, his voice poised with a polite kind of charm. Belial finds the boy’s voice to be soothing, strangely so, and he can offer nothing more than a nod as Dimitri takes the futon from him.

Belial moves on to Claude and the boy accepts the futon with a nod. He glances at the bed behind Belial – Byleth’s bed - words seemingly on the tip of his tongue, before he takes the item off of Belial’s hands.

Both boys spread their futons out on the floor and lay upon them. Belial grabs a few spare quilts from his sister’s bed, passing them along to the boys. “My sister won’t mind,” he says to Claude’s inquiring look, “so just take them.”

“If you say so,” Claude nods, nestling in the blanket. He yawns. “Goodnight then.”

“Yes, goodnight,” Dimitri adds.

“Goodnight to you too.”

Belial turns off the lights and slides onto his bed, slipping underneath the covers. He stares at the ceiling, wondering, when a light snore overtakes the room. Belial smiles, thinking everything comfortable, and falls asleep.

* * *

Darkness. A room with the smell of dust and an air of disuse.

Edelgard arises, carefully shifting blankets off of her as she comes to a stand.

Beside her, asleep on a futon, is Byleth. The girl sleeps without concern, all caution lost to the realm of unconsciousness. Edelgard takes a moment to observe the girl’s sleeping form, a hand reaching out as if to try and touch Byleth’s cheeks.

Then, she pauses, retracting her hand as if she’s burned it. Heat inflames her face, making her nibble at her bottom lip as she takes the moment to spin on her heels and quietly exit from the room.

Since her arrival, she’s taken much care in memorizing the layout of Byleth’s house. The location of hallways, doors, and stairways is well ingrained into her mind as she winds her way through the house. The girl makes her way to the bottom floor with little worry, footsteps as light as a mouse’s as she reaches two glass doors. Edelgard carefully slides one of the two doors open, slinking outside.

“Milady,” a voice low and welcoming greets her.

Purple light sparks at her feet and Edelgard withstands the momentary whirl of dizziness that accompanies its presence. She watches as the sight of grass and concrete turns into that of sky and tree top, her feet alighting upon brown shingles as a magic circle dissipates beneath her.

A boy with purple magic dripping off his fingers watches her, one arm held out to welcome an owl on his wrist. The creature regards Edelgard with a cock of its head, glowing blue eyes watching her as she approaches.

“Things did not go as planned,” she states.

“_As I can see._” The owl says, its warbling voice reminiscent of a human being’s. “_What a shame. This only makes things harder for you._”

“We can take their lives now, while they sleep.” The boy speaks. “The mercenaries included.”

“_No_,” her voice comes out choked and, frowning, she clears her throat and shakes her head. “No, it’s too late to act now. We must move on to our second plan.”

The owl begins to preen itself. “_But doing so will make things a lot more difficult. If you don’t act now, you’ll face obstacles that are far more challenging than a task like this._”

“I…don’t want to upset them,” Edelgard says. “Those mercenaries…they don’t deserve to be caught up in this.”

“_But isn’t it a little too late for that? Or…_” The owl takes flight from its roost, hovering in front of Edelgard and opening its beak. Her gaze wanders to its mouth, watching the flick of its luminescent blue tongue as it speaks. “_Have you developed feelings you shouldn’t have?”_

The boy glances at the both of them. His expression darkens. “Have you, Milady?”

“I…don’t want to talk about it.” She shakes her head. “For now, we should move on with our back-up plan. We cannot be too rash. Acting now will only lead to mistakes.” She takes in a deep breath. “For now, we’ll leave things as is. I’ll clean up my mess. Then, we’ll talk to Lonato. We’ll straighten out things with him.”

The owl cocks its head. There is wisdom in its gaze, ancient and disturbing. Edelgard feels its eyes piercing into her, probing her for some kind of weakness.

“_…As you wish._”

With a beat of its wings, the owl flutters off, cascading through the night sky with moonlight brushing the tips of its wings. Edelgard watches it go before turning to the boy.

He bows to her, manifesting an axe before him. Edelgard recognizes the item. It’s the same one she “lost” in battle.

A hand reaches out for the axe, bringing it to the satchel still strapped around her waist. It vanishes into the item, dissipating in a cloud of white particles.

“Hubert,” she says. The boy perks up, dark eyes watching her. “Continue watching but stay hidden. By now, the Archbishop must be suspecting something. Not only her but Claude too.”

“Claude?” Hubert tilts his head. “I thought that boy was too daft to recognize anything.”

“He saw you,” she says, quietly. “During the battle.”

“A blunder on my part then. I was must’ve been too careless in thinking myself hidden in the smoke.”

“Avoid his gaze whenever possible. I do not want to take needless risks. Especially if the future leader of Leicester becomes aroused with suspicions.”

“Understood.”

She smiles. “You are dismissed.”

Hubert nods, snapping his fingers. Purple bites at her feet, climbing its way up her until she is awash in light. She blinks and then finds herself back on a concrete walkway surrounded by grass. The magic circle at her feet evaporates and, left in darkness, Edelgard enters through the sliding glass door.

Her footsteps are light as she steps up the staircase. Her ears are alert for any noise she might make, her every movement meant to creep across the unfamiliar terrain. She ascends until her feet meet carpet, letting loose a quiet sigh-

“Hey princess.”

-and then suddenly spins around, eyes wide in alarm.

Claude von Reigan greets her panicked gaze, appearing from the shadows like a wraith. He steps towards her, almost gliding across carpet, and inspects her with green eyes dull from sleep.

Edelgard scrutinizes him, sizing him up. Did he see? Did he hear? Does he know? She waits for him to say something – anything – and speak he does.

“You’re up late.” It’s not an accusation. He states it like a fact.

That reassures her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” is her response, head tilting up in defiance of his stare. “I didn’t want to wake anyone up, so I went outside.”

“I see.” He yawns. It’s a quiet yawn. She can barely hear it even while straining her ears for the noise. “Well, sorry for disturbing your peace.”

“Not a problem.” She pauses. "But I must ask. Why are _you_ up this late?”

“Same as you. Couldn’t sleep.”

“I see…”

They stand in lingering silence. Edelgard rubs at her arm. Claude tilts his head, stifling yet another soft yawn. Then, she makes a move to turn away, striding to her room when:

“Edelgard?”

She pauses, looking back. “Yes?”

“There are owls out there,” he says, eyes glinting in the darkness of the hallway. “And the walls like to listen.”

She can’t help herself. She _bristles_, mouth ready to defend herself, when the boy spins on his heels and escapes into a nearby room. She watches him go, dumbfounded, and then retreats to her own room.

Edelgard slips into bed without awakening Byleth, her mind full of frenzied thoughts. Panic seizes her, clawing at her mind. Her fingers dig into her blankets, invisible voices muttering “what-ifs” in her ears.

Then, she reassures herself, threading together an explanation on everything Claude can’t possibly know. Taking in deep breaths, she settles herself into sleep, ignoring the possibilities of impossibilities as she drifts away.

~~~

When Byleth awakes, it’s to the racket of a man screaming his head off.

Which, by all means, should alarm her.

Instead, it makes her want to bury her head in her arms and muffle a moan of complaint.

A hand alights on her shoulder and she hears a sympathetic voice talk to her. “Come on,” she says, “it looks like your dad’s got a visitor.”

Byleth looks up, blinking her eyes sleepily at the girl leaning over her. Purple eyes greet her with a smile, a lock of white hair brushing against Byleth’s cheek.

She yelps, alarm overtaking her, and jumps away. Byleth rubs at her eyes furiously, forcing them to wake up, and watches with a beating heart as Edelgard greets her.

“Oh come now,” she says, “I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t have to be scared of me.”

There’s a lilt of laughter to the girl’s voice. It makes Byleth’s cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I-I forgot you were sleeping here,” she says.

“It must be quite weird to wake up to a stranger in your room,” Edelgard agrees. She offers up a hand while smiling prettily.

Byleth takes her hand with some hesitation. Edelgard pulls her to her feet, her blankets spilling around her like a ring. Beneath them, the call of a boisterous voice thickens the air with noise, a rioting amount of racket sending Byleth sighing in dismay.

When she exits out of the guest room, Edelgard behind her, she finds her brother and his room-mates appearing from their room with groans. Evidently, it seems they share her lack of morning bird status, all three boys rubbing at their eyes while letting loose huge yawns.

Byleth nods at her brother as she passes, descending down wooden steps and into the living room. There, she witnesses quite a scene: her father, scowling, as he is met with the loud chatter of a man dressed to the brim in silver armor.

“Oh! Jeralt!” The man says, his every word pressed with an invisible exclamation point. “You simply must come back with me to the monastery! Lady Rhea would welcome you with open arms! And so would the Knights! In these turbulent times, we need not fear danger if you, Blade Breaker, are back in our service!”

“Blade Breaker?” Dimitri’s voice takes on a note of awe as he manifests to Byleth’s right. The girl jumps away from him, eyes wide as he continues talking. “Is your father actually the legendary Blade Breaker?”

“I’m not sure,” Belial comes to stand between his sister and the boy, looking as puzzled as Byleth feels. “I’ve never heard someone call him by that name before.”

“But it would make some sense,” Edelgard says, surprise marring her otherwise pleasant voice, “they say the Blade Breaker was a talented man. And, when I saw your father last night in battle, I could tell he was very talented indeed.”

“Excellent form on a horse and great battle posture,” Claude adds. He slinks to Byleth’s side, eyeing the girl as she takes a step away from him. “Quite skilled with a lance too. You could tell he knew what he was doing.”

Belial’s eyebrows furrow. Byleth mimics the gesture, frowning as the conversation before them is broken by their arrival.

“Edelgard! Claude! Dimitri!” The man declares, grinning brightly as he takes note of their presence. “So this is where you’ve been! You’ve worried Lady Rhea to death with your escapade from the last mission! And here you are – sitting with a legend! I can almost say I’m envious!”

Jeralt gives a heavy sigh. He turns his attention to Byleth, then to Belial, shaking his head. “This is Alois,” he states to them. “He’s an old friend of mine. It seems he came here after one of the villagers sent a messenger all the way to the monastery. Suffice to say he’s come here a little too late.”

“All the better to know you’re alive and kicking! Late arrival or not, I’ve found more than two things that will make Lady Rhea happy to hear!” Alois looks at Byleth and Belial, grinning at them. “And look! I’ve see you’ve found yourself some helpers! Are they your mercenary buddies?”

“My children, actually.”

At that, Alois’s eyes grow wide. “_Children? _Wow, there is _so much_ that you need to fill me in on, Jer! Just how much have I missed out on in the twenty years you’ve been gone?”

“Not much,” the man responds. “Just a peaceful life in a peaceful village. Well, peaceful until the bandits came along.”

Edelgard winces. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jeralt sighs, a hand on his forehead as he offers the girl a pitying glance. “Merely bad timing, that’s all.”

“Right.”

“Regardless!” Alois stands with his back straight. “We probably should not be wasting time here. Now that I have come and investigated matters, I see the village is capable of being left in the hands of your men.”

“Alois-” Jeralt begins to start with a sigh but is interrupted by the man.

“However! I cannot leave things as is. I urgently request that you, your children, and our three future leaders come with me and my knights to the monastery. Lady Rhea is in dire straits and to hear such wonderful news of both you and all of our leader's safety would put her at great ease.”

“We’re more than happy to go back to the monastery with you, Sir Alois.” Dimitri says, stepping forward with a nod. “In fact, Sir Jeralt was already promising to take us there himself this morning.”

There’s a wave of irritation that rolls off Byleth’s father and the girl can’t help but think Dimitri’s words have fueled an invisible fire.

“Splendid! Then, if you were heading to the monastery anyways, I guess I need to waste no further effort on convincing you to join me! Come now, we should be on our way quickly! The path to the monastery is long and, if we leave now, we can arrive reasonably a little after noon!”

Jeralt pinches the bridge of his nose and nods. “Alright, alright, I get it.” He turns to Byleth and Belial. “It seems like we’re going on an adventure, you two.”

“It sounds…fun,” Byleth ventures. When her father raises an eyebrow at her, clearly disbelieving, she flushes. “I’ve never seen the monastery before. A-And, even if there’s a lot of people around, I’ll be fine, I’m sure of it.”

“See!” Alois booms with an infectious amount of cheer to his voice. “That’s the spirit!”

Claude and Edelgard nod, approaching the man with Dimitri behind them. Byleth and Belial fall in line, eyeing the silver-coated knights that stand behind Alois. The men and women are looking at the twins in return, gazes flicking between them and their father as if trying to pierce together any semblance of resemblance. Byleth frowns, but only scoots closer to her brother. Belial offers her up a teasing smile and she rolls her eyes.

Their father follows behind them, shutting the door and locking it in place. Alois nods in approval, beckoning them out onto the village streets as his men blockade them in a circle of knights.

“Let us go then!” The man proclaims, pointing a finger out towards the forest with a kind of exuberance Byleth almost envies. “To Garreg Mach!”

“To Garreg Mach,” Jeralt agrees, his voice dropping to a whisper as he mutters: “Home to our lovely Archbishop, Lady Rhea.”

Byleth turns to look at her father from the side of her eyes. He refuses to look at her, staring straight ahead. Still, she’s sure she hasn’t imagined it.

His words are full of resentment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, we're finally gonna make it to the monastery next chapter. I wanted to get there by this chapter but uhhhhh this chapter got longer than I was expecting it to and so I've decided to split it. Which is funny, because I still haven't caught up with my initial chapter 1.1 plot summary and at this rate the entirety of the Great Tree Moon I arc is going to be longer than just 6 chapters gfkkgj 
> 
> Regardless, have I mentioned I love this version of Claude? Because I love this version of Claude. He’s so fun to write. Especially with Edelgard. God, he and Edelgard have (and will continue to have) such fun interactions.
> 
> Also, I created a Twitter account for FETH and fanfic musings @Lazuli_Kitsune. Feel free to check it out if you're curious about my writing process or just ideas I have about this game in general lol


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